Unintended Consequences
by govgal
Summary: Kidnapping…Ransom…Betrayal…Who will be left standing? Can Neal ever trust Peter again after what happens?
1. Chapter 1

_Unintended Consequences_

Teaser: Kidnapping…Ransom…Betrayal…Who will be left standing?

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: So, finally I've got another story in the works. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I do, and please let me know what you think!

_Chapter 1_

F.B.I. Offices

9 a.m. Wednesday

Peter was sitting at his desk filling out paperwork for their last case wondering why Neal hadn't shown up yet. Before he could leave his desk and ask if anyone had seen Neal, his phone rang. Assuming it was his consultant, Peter was really hoping said consultant had a good explanation for being late.

"This is Agent Burke."

"You have 12 hours or the lady dies."

"12 hours to do what?"

"We want $287,500 in unmarked bills to be delivered to the abandoned Market Solutions building on 4th Avenue. Be there at 9 p.m. sharp and come alone."

"Who is this?"

"You're smarter than that Agent Burke and I'm sure you even recognize my voice. How could you possibly forget?"

"Who do you have? A name might be helpful."

"If you can figure out who I am, then you'll have no trouble figuring out who she is. I'm offering you the chance to buy her back. The deal is only good for 12 hours; otherwise she dies. She's of no use to me anymore."

"How do I know you have her? I want proof of life before I do anything."

Peter could hear mumbling in the background and it sounded like people were arguing. Finally, Peter could faintly hear what sounded like "Agent Burke wants to know how you are."

A soft feminine voice came over the phone, it sounded shaky but determined.

"Indigo. You were right."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief; it wasn't Elle's voice. His face paled as he realized the voice did sound eerily familiar although he hadn't heard it in many years.

The gruff voice Peter assumed was the kidnapper came back on the line.

"Satisfied, Agent Burke? Remember, 9 p.m. at the abandoned Market Solutions building on 4th and come alone. No other feds; I'll be watching."

"I'll be there."

Peter had just hung up the phone when Diana appeared at his door.

"What's wrong, Boss?"

She forgot her original question when she saw Peter's face was white as a sheet and she was concerned with whatever had triggered this reaction.

"I need a minute Diana, please?"

"Sure thing, I'll come back later."

Completely forgetting he wanted to ask Diana where Neal was, Peter picked up the phone and dialed his wife. Elle answered on the first ring.

"Hey honey."

"Are you home?"

Peter's question was more abrupt than normal without even a word of greeting; Elle became slightly worried.

"Yes. I'm home yet. What's wrong?"

"In our bedroom closet, on the top shelf, there should be a box of stuff from when I was a kid. I need you to find it for me while I'm on the phone. I need to know if something is still in there."

"Ok. Give me just a minute to get up there."

Elle started walking up the stairs toward their bedroom.

"Is your day going ok? You sound really stressed!"

"I can't explain right now. I just need you to find the box."

"Ok. Ok. Just calm down Peter; I'm almost there. I'm going to put the phone down for a minute, but I'll turn it on speaker, ok?"

"Fine, just hurry."

Elle turned the phone on speaker, set it on the bed, dragged the small footstool over to the closet and stood on it. She moved a few things around until she found the shoe box tucked away in a back corner. She carefully took it down and set it on the bed.

"I found it; what am I looking for?"

"There should be a colored index card with the colors of the rainbow listed."

Elle rummaged around in the box until she found a light pink 3 x 5 index card.

"Ok. I think this is it. Red is I'm hot, Orange is I'm thirsty…Green is…"

"I need Indigo. What's Indigo?"

Elle consulted the card again.

"Indigo is I'm scared. What does this mean Peter?"

"I can't explain right now Elle, but thanks. I love you. Bye."

Peter hung up quickly and Elle just stared at the receiver. She had a strange feeling something was very wrong. Elle perused the list further; interested because she had never seen it before. All the colors of the rainbow were listed with different feelings beside them; most of them at least seemed to make sense. Red was I'm hot and orange was I'm thirsty. Elle wondered if this was a reference to orange juice. Yellow was happy, which must be the sun; green was sick, which was totally understandable. Blue was listed as cold, which again was self-explanatory. Indigo was scared. Elle was curious as to why Peter would be so interested in someone or something being scared. She finally concluded he must have a new case to protect someone, although what it had to do with his childhood was beyond her. The last entry was purple; it was listed as I'm hungry. Purple didn't seem to make sense at first, until she remembered Peter had once made a comment when she had served beets for dinner. He said it had reminded him of being a child because he had helped his mom can beets and his fingers had been stained purple. It seemed rather odd that Peter would think of code words and write them down on a pink index card, but then Elle realized even as a child he was probably already pretending to be an FBI agent and had come up with a secret code. The problem, Elle realized, was that for a code to work you needed someone to pass messages too. She could only reason that it must have been a childhood friend. Peter had never mentioned having any brothers or sisters, and judging by the pink index card, it had to be a girl. Elle was now intrigued about this mystery person and made a mental note to ask him about his childhood friend when he got home.

##

"Peter…Peter?"

Diana rapped a bit louder on the door trying to get his attention. Peter finally looked up, but it seemed to take him a few seconds to realize who was at his door.

"What can I help you with?"

"You look awful and you didn't respond when I called your name."

"I'm sorry what was it you wanted to tell me?"  
"Neal called in sick. He said he isn't feeling good and won't be in today. Are you sure you're ok?

"Yeah. I'll be fine. I got a call this morning…a woman has been kidnapped. They didn't leave a name, but apparently I'm supposed to figure it out. Also, the ransom demand is very specific; $287,500 by 9 pm tonight."

Peter scribbled two names on a blank piece of notebook paper and handed it to Diana.

"I need you to pull any records you can find with these names…bank records, mortgage records, known associates. Concentrate on the mortgage records first; I want to see that before anything else."

"Frank and Grace Corleone. I've never heard of them."

Peter didn't look Diana in the eye; she sensed something was wrong, but couldn't quite figure out what it was yet. Peter seemed to sense her question, but didn't want to discuss it quite yet.

"Please, just bring me the mortgage records first."

"Will do, Boss."

Diana had turned around and walked several steps to leave Peter's office when she stopped and looked back at Peter.

"Do you think Neal had something to do with this? Is that why you're upset?"

"Neal doesn't do kidnappings; it's not his style. Kidnappings generally involve guns."

"But…you don't really think he's sick do you?"

"I think it's suspicious. He was fine yesterday, although maybe he took celebrating our case success a little too far last night."

"You could check his anklet and make sure he's at June's."

"I think I will."

Diana turned around to leave again and Peter pulled up Neal's tracking data. Peter was just a bit surprised that the data showed Neal was indeed at home. Peter was beginning to wonder if he trusted the tracking data as much as he trusted Neal; both had a history of reliability issues. Peter looked down and noticed that his hands were shaking. He was glad Diana hadn't said anything because he didn't want to admit the call had shaken him up quite a bit. It had started as a routine run-of-the-mill kidnapping; a person he needed to find in a short period of time or else, no emotion involved. The call had ended becoming a lot more personal than he could have ever imagined.


	2. Chapter 2

**Unintended Consequences **

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: This story occurs just before Point Blank (because I can't live/write without Mozzie!)

_**Chapter 2**_

_The __**previous**__ evening. Tuesday, 6 p.m._

Neal was sitting in a booth at his favorite wine bar slowly sipping a glass of wine to celebrate closing another case. He had invited Peter to join him but, as usual, Peter was anxious to get home to Elle. Neal's rambling thoughts of jealousy regarding Peter and Elle's close relationship were cut short when a man slid in on the other side of the booth.  
"Neal Caffrey. It's been a while since I've seen you. How's life?"

Neal chuckled, instantly recognizing the man across from him. He was puzzled though as to why he would reappear after several years.  
"Life sometimes throws you curveballs, Frank. What brings you here?"  
Frank hesitated for a few seconds as if trying to get up the nerve to voice his request.  
"I…I need your help."  
Neal raised his eyebrows unsure if he should believe him.  
"How did you find me?"  
"Alex said I should be able to find you here."  
"I'll have to remember not to thank her."

"As if I'm pleased to be here either."

"What could you possibly want from me? I'm fairly certain you wanted nothing to do with me a few years ago."  
"It's about Grace."  
"How is she? She didn't dump you did she?"  
"No, she's been...she's been kidnapped."  
"I'm sorry Frank. Grace is a special lady. How do you think I can help?"  
Frank looked unsure of himself and started to stutter rather badly. "Mm...masked mm...men broke into the house and took her. Tt...they said tt...they wanted the pp...painting...but I don't...I don't have it...and tt...they're going to kk...kill her."

Neal thought it was odd because he hadn't remembered Frank ever having a problem with stuttering before. He did have to mentally concede that if Grace had been kidnapped it could very well have pushed Frank over the edge and this is how he was coping; he did look extremely distressed. Neal didn't blame him; he had felt the same way about Kate when he was searching for her.  
"It's ok, Frank. I have some friends in the FBI. We'll find her."  
"NO!"  
Neal visibly jumped at Frank's outburst.  
"I'm…I'm sorry, no...If there's any cops…cops or FBI involved they'll kill her. They…they said they would."  
"What painting do they want? You said you don't have it. Are you asking me to steal it?"  
"No, you…you can't steal it."

Frank paused and Neal got an irritated look on his face.

"Insulting me isn't going to help. Of course I can steal it. Isn't that why you tracked me down through Alex?"

Frank had a confused look on his face, but then realized what Neal meant.

"No, I meant you…you can't steal it because I already did."  
"What am I missing here Frank? You need to tell me what you want! If you already have the painting then why do you need my help?"  
"Because I...I dd... did have it but now it's...it's gone! I...I had it in a storage unit, but one unit caught fire...I...I dd...don't know why, bb...but it spread and the pp...painting was destroyed...and they're going...going to kk...kill Grace!"  
Neal took a moment to process this information.  
"It's ok. We'll figure something out."  
"I can't lose her Neal! What if you lost Kate? I know she ...she liked Grace as well; maybe...maybe she can help."  
Neal's expression turned deadly serious and his eyes narrowed, shooting arrows at Frank for bringing up a painful subject.

"Kate's dead, Frank. She was killed in an explosion."  
"I'm sorry."

If Neal had looked up at that very moment he might have noticed that sorrow was not the prevalent expression on Frank's face, but he was too busy trying to calm his own nerves to notice.  
"It's ok. It's not your fault. I couldn't save Kate, but maybe I can help you save Grace."  
"You won't regret it."  
"I hope not. What painting did you steal that I need to recreate?"  
"It was by Johannes Vermeer. It's called "_The Concert."_  
"You stole _that_?"  
"I thought you might be familiar with it."  
"I have to admit, that theft was pretty ingenious. Dressing up like cops and talking your way into the Gardner museum; definitely my style. I was exceptionally jealous when I heard about that. Paintings by Rembrandt, Vermeer and Degas...that must have been an unbelievable payday."  
"Yeah well, I was lucky to get away with the Vermeer. There were a lot of people involved. It was a big operation, but it was set up so that no one knew all of the parts of the operation. Everyone had their specific part; mine was to be one of the cops. I don't know everyone involved and I'm trying to figure out who might have Grace."  
"Someone might be getting skittish. I heard the FBI is stepping up its search for the missing paintings. They've posted a couple billboards with a five million dollar reward for information; that's a lot of money to consider. Maybe your former compadres think you would give information about them but not reveal your part in it. They knew taking Grace would be far more important to you than 5 million and keeping your secret safe."

"You're as smart as I remember. You analyze every angle, I like that. So what do we do? How do we know that they'll give Grace back even if I give them the painting?"

"You don't. That's what happened to Kate. I did what they wanted and Kate still died."  
"Then we don't make the same mistake twice, Neal. We have to get her back!"  
"Why don't we go back to my place and come up with a plan of action. Give me just a minute and we can go."  
Neal pulled out his cell phone and dialed. The phone rang several times before it was picked up.

"Sorry, I was practicing my tai chi. What's up?"  
"Kidnapping. Old friend. I need your help."  
"Is the Suit there?"  
"No, Peter cannot know about this. Will you help?"

"What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"I need a canvas from the storage locker; preferably something to pass for late 17th century. It needs to be approximately 2 ½ feet by 2 ½ feet. I'll find the exact dimensions later."

"I'll see what I can find."  
"Thanks. Meet me at my place as soon as possible."

Neal hung up the phone to find Frank staring at him angrily.

"Who were you calling? I said no cops."

"I wasn't calling the cops. He's a friend. He'll meet us at my place shortly. Let's go. We have a lot of work to do."

##

Neal was standing by the French doors in his apartment at June's looking out on to the roof contemplating what he was about to do. It was apparent that Frank was doing the same thing while he was pacing back and forth by the couch.

"What if this doesn't work? What if your forgery isn't believable?"

Neal turned around, already regretting his decision to help Frank. If Frank didn't have confidence in his work, why did he even bother tracking him down? Neal reminded himself that this was why he preferred to work alone; no one to look over your shoulder and tell you your work wasn't good enough.

"Calm down Frank, this is why you asked for _my_ help, right? So, the first step is to recreate the painting. While I'm working, I need you to remember everything you can about any members of the group. Is there anything special you can remember; maybe any hiding places where Grace might be? If we have a good idea where she is, you can take the painting to the drop and I can case the area. By finding her sooner rather than later, we have a better chance of getting her out alive. Call me with the location if it's different than what we expect and hopefully one of us can reach her quickly."

"Thanks man. I really appreciate this."

"You'd better, Frank. I swear this is the last favor I am ever doing for you. If Grace wasn't involved, you'd be out of luck."

Frank was pretty sure Neal had no idea just how much he appreciated this, but by the time Neal realized what was going on, it would be too late.


	3. Chapter 3

**Unintended Consequences **

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Just to clarify it's still Tuesday evening, just later, so Peter hasn't received the phone call yet. I originally meant to only have one chapter with what Neal was up to beforehand, but I decided to include some more background. I hope you enjoy this extra long chapter! Let me know what you think : )

_**Chapter 3**_

_Tuesday evening, 8 pm_

Neal found a pencil and paper for Frank to start writing down anything he could remember. Neal then walked over and pulled out a large art book from one of the shelves in his apartment and consulted the index to find the page number for Vermeer's painting, _The Concert_. Fortunately, there was a full page picture in the book for him to duplicate. It also provided details about the colors, the style of painting and the precise measurements of the canvas. He had just sat down on the couch and began to study the intricacies of the painting when he heard a knock on the door. Neal put the book down and walked to the door. He opened it expecting to see Mozzie, but instead found June standing there with a plate of sandwiches in her hands.

"I thought you young men might need these. Mozzie was at the door and said that you were working on something and needed his help. I asked if he had eaten. He said he hadn't had a chance. I knew you had other company, so I thought it might be nice to put together some sandwiches for you. May I come in?"

"Yes, Yes. I'm sorry, please come in. You're so thoughtful."  
June stepped in with the plate revealing Mozzie still standing in the hallway with a piece of canvas in his hands. June set the plate down on the table and turned around.

"You gentlemen have a lovely evening. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

June winked and walked back through the door and past Mozzie, leaving the three men alone.

Mozzie stepped into Neal's apartment, still eyeing the sandwiches.

"Thanks for coming and bringing the canvas."

"Now please enlighten me as to what is going on?"

Mozzie walked past Neal intending to set the canvas down on the table, but stopped dead when he saw Frank sitting there.

"We're helping _him_?"

"Can it, Moz. Grace is missing; Frank says she's been kidnapped."

"You're doing this because of Kate, aren't you?"

"Moz, really, we don't have time. We need your help. Frank is coming up with a list of people who might have her and where they might have taken her. I have to study this painting."

"Is the ransom is a painting?"

"You just don't miss much do you, Moz?"

Moz noted the sarcastic tone in Neal's voice, but didn't dignify it with a response.

"Yes, Moz, the ransom is a painting."

"Which painting?"

"Vermeer's _The Concert._"

"That was stolen years ago, so why are you studying it?"

"Frank had it in a storage locker; there was a fire and the painting was destroyed. Now the kidnappers are demanding it as a ransom, not knowing it doesn't exist anymore. If we don't give it to them, they might kill Grace."

"Ok, ok. I was just asking."

Moz continued to walk toward the table glaring as Frank picked up one of the egg salad sandwiches.

"Definitely _not_ good to see you again, Frank."

"Likewise."

Neal had to chuckle at the two men. Being the romantic that he was, Neal couldn't turn down the opportunity to help Grace. He knew Mozzie wouldn't be too happy about helping Frank and he hoped Mozzie would forgive him; even if it was at a much later date.

"Now that you two have exchanged pleasantries, could we please get down to business? I know you don't like Frank, Moz, but this is about helping Grace, ok?"

Neal turned around, got out his art supplies and set up his easel. Mozzie laid the canvas down on a block of wood which was there to protect the table when Neal re-sized the canvas.

"This will be perfect, Moz. Thanks for picking this up. I really appreciate it."

"Well, at least someone appreciates me."

Mozzie cast another frosty look over at Frank before he sat at the opposite site of the table and picked up a sandwich as well.

"So, you're trying to track down Grace's kidnappers?"

"Yeah, we're trying to narrow down suspects and possible locations. Neal thought between the two of us, we should be able to come up with a good list."

Mozzie didn't even try to hide his irritation with Frank. It was probably a good thing he was hungry and had a sandwich in his mouth or he would have told Frank exactly what he thought of him. Neal was going to owe him _big_ for this. Neal didn't miss the look that Mozzie gave Frank, but he was hoping that together they might be able to come up with a good idea of where Grace might be. With both of their underground contacts, Neal knew it wouldn't take too long for them to come up with at least something to go on. In the meantime, he was going to leave _them_ to do what _they_ did best, and concentrate on what _he_ did best. Using a ruler, he started scoring the canvas to 72.5 cm by 64.7 cm; the exact size of Vermeer's painting. If it was going to be a believable forgery it had to be authentic and Neal was anything but sloppy.

##

Several hours later, based on chatter both Mozzie and Frank were hearing from their underground contacts, Mozzie and Frank had come up with a list of places Grace might be. Mozzie had also managed to secure several floor plans for buildings they were looking at. In addition to the floor plans, they had a map spread out on the table that both were leaning over.

"I just have a gut feeling that this building would be most likely."

Frank pointed at a location on the map.

"It has a nice office space with an empty warehouse. It would be a good place to hide her."

"Isn't that the one owned by Hector Ramon?"

Mozzie had heard of the name and knew it meant bad news.

"Well, that's the name, but it's an alias of Marco Ortiz who is a former associate of mine. He holds a grudge for a job I pulled a few years ago, so in my opinion, he's the most likely suspect to have taken Grace."

Mozzie groaned internally, afraid to let Frank or Neal hear. Of all of the people for Frank to be associated with, of course it would be Marco Ortiz. Mozzie knew it really shouldn't surprise him. He could see them working together; both had the same power grabbing style and were not afraid to use force to get it. Several years ago, when Neal had agreed to do a job with Frank, Mozzie had tried to warn Neal that Frank associated with a "shoot first, ask questions later" crowd. Neal had mocked Frank that using guns lacked imagination. Frank had been angry that Neal had refused to shoot a museum guard and walked away with the painting without a shot being fired. Even though Neal had given Frank a cut of the take, Frank had never really forgiven him for the snub. Mozzie was pulled from his thoughts when he realized Frank had asked him a question and he had no idea what it was.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if you agreed if we should start at this location."

"I'd have to agree, the abandoned warehouse on 4th Avenue is probably a good choice, but I think this old train depot might be a great possibility as well. Maybe you should check it out first. "

"Well, I'm actually not checking anything out, I'm taking the painting to the drop. It's at 9 pm tomorrow night. I give them the painting and they're supposed to give me Grace's location. I'm afraid though they'll want more and won't let her go. It was Neal's idea to case the areas we think Grace might be held. We need to find her before someone decides she's expendable even after I give them the painting."

Mozzie looked up startled when Frank had mentioned it was Neal's idea to look for Grace. He was ready to say a few choice words to Neal but caught himself as he realized the futility of the attempt. As Shakespeare said "_They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth."_ Mozzie realized that he would never be able to talk Neal out of this; no matter what he thought about Frank personally. He had no doubts Neal was doing this because he felt guilty about Kate's death and he was trying to redeem himself in his own eyes by helping Frank save Grace. It was amazing the power love could have even from beyond the grave. Warning bells were going off in Mozzie's head and he felt obligated to find a way to protect Neal from himself. It would just be so much easier if Neal didn't find it necessary to prove again and again how much he loved Kate.

##

Finally satisfied that they had suitable locations for Neal to case in their attempt to locate Grace before the kidnappers would harm her, Frank announced that he was leaving so that he could get some rest in anticipation of the meeting with the kidnappers. Mozzie stayed for a little while longer, observing Neal's intense concentration on his painting. Neal was clearly not in the mood to talk, so Mozzie eventually excused himself and left Neal to his work. Neal knew Mozzie was watching him, but he was too involved with the intricacies of the painting to carry on a lucid conversation. His brush strokes worked the canvas back and forth creating a work of art that even the biggest fans of Vermeer's work would have attributed to the 17th century master. Various shades of reds, blues and yellows filled the canvas and brought to life the musical gathering Vermeer had frozen in time. Neal set down his paint brush and stopped to admire his work. It _was_ truly remarkable. It still felt so natural, so right; he just needed a few more hours. He fully realized that this painting would not make him millions like some of his forgeries had; yet it was priceless because the painting would hopefully save the life of a friend. He thought it was strange that he had never thought about paintings in that light before. How could he even begin to compare it to the value of a human life? Grace and Kate were both worth more than any of the paintings he had ever forged. He had gone to such great lengths to secure the music box to ensure Kate's safety; nothing the music box could ever offer would even begin to compare to what Kate meant to him. Now that Kate was gone, he was struggling to find meaning in life. What was his purpose? Why was he here? He remembered when he was about to get on the plane with Kate that Peter was begging him with his eyes to stay. Peter had told him he made a difference; was that enough? Would that have made him stay if the plane had never blown up? Neal was still unsure what decision he actually would have made. By forging this painting he felt he could save a life, even if it couldn't be Kate's. He leaned back against the wall releasing a huge sigh before walking back over to the painting and picking up the brush to finish the most important forgery he had ever made. He was a little surprised that he felt unsettled at keeping all of this from Peter. He had tried to talk Frank into getting Peter's help, but Frank's reaction had quickly dashed those hopes. He understood though, it was the same reason why he didn't want Peter to know he was searching for the music box. He wanted to handle it on his own, without any FBI interference.

##

Several hours later, as darkness was giving way to dawn, the first streaks of light filtered through the French doors and illuminated a perfect recreation of Vermeer's _The Concert_. The sun's rays stretched even further to reveal a figure fully clothed lying on the couch clutching a blanket. A muffled groan permeated the stillness of the morning. Neal slowly pushed the blanket away and cracked an eye open. He was disoriented at first as to why he was on the couch, but then he remembered the painting. He remembered he had been so exhausted he didn't even feel like walking the few feet to his bed. He had grabbed the blanket, slumped down on the couch and fallen asleep. He stood slowly, stretching the kinks out of his back. Still rubbing his eyes, he shuffled over to the painting and stood there admiring his finished product. Regret washed over him in waves, feeling his chest tighten, as he tried to come to terms with the fact that although he could bring an almost 370 year old painting back from the dead, the love of his life was _still_ gone forever. He could only hope that the same didn't happen with Grace. Neal slowly shuffled over to the oven to turn it on and age the painting so it would be ready by evening. He was still exhausted; there was no way he was going to be able to stay awake and make it through work. Peter would notice something was wrong immediately and be all over him with questions about what he was doing. He was going to have to call in sick so he could get some sleep to be on top of his game tonight. He felt confident that Peter would check the tracking data and would find, to his chagrin that Neal was indeed still in his apartment. Hopefully there would be a new case that would get Peter's attention and distract him from continuously monitoring his anklet or from actually checking up on him. After all, Neal rationalized, it wasn't like he was going out for the next several hours and when he did it wouldn't be outside of his two-mile radius. There was no reason to feel guilty, so why did he? He pondered for just a second, annoyed that Peter was really getting into his head; it didn't really matter. It wasn't like Peter was going to stop him from going forward with their plan. Being the FBI Agent that he was, Peter should understand the need to save a life.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Unintended Consequences**_

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Wow. I have no idea where this week just went. I hope you enjoy the update, and please let me know what you think!

_**Chapter 4**_

_**Wednesday morning, 11 a.m.**_

Once Diana returned with the research Peter had requested, he was going to ask her to pull the blueprints of the building where the meeting was going to happen. He wanted to case the place, know the layout and all the entrances and exits in case something went wrong. Oh great, just great he thought now he was starting to sound like Neal; 'How to adequately case a building in 5 easy steps.' Seriously though, he realized he could use Neal's help to figure out if there was anything he was missing. He knew he was too close to the situation to be completely rational but he didn't want Hughes to pull him off the case; he was not about to let Rice take over. Frustrated, that Neal had taken a sick day when he really needed him, Peter put his head in his hands and allowed the memories he had hidden for so long overtake him.

_30 plus years ago…_

_Peter pulled his backpack from his locker; glad the school day was finally over. He walked down the hallway and out the door to his usual meeting spot by the merry-go-round where he always met his little sister__ after school. They lived about 5 blocks from school so they always walked together. Peter waited several minutes, but Grace did not appear as usual. He was certain she would not have left without him because there was one particular dog on the way home that always frightened Grace. She always insisted on holding Peter's hand when they walked down that block and she would never attempt it herself; Peter was sure of it. He finally hopped off the merry-go-round and walked around the playground always keeping the merry-go-round in sight in case Grace showed up. He didn't see her anywhere on the playground. He spotted several of her friends, walked over and asked if they had seen her. Peter began to really worry when they told him they hadn't seen her. He was about to go back inside and make sure she wasn't in there when he heard her scream. He ran toward the back of the building where he thought the sound had come from. He rounded the corner and saw two boys much bigger than he was with their backs facing him. He briefly saw a flash of blue, remembering Grace had been wearing blue that morning. The bigger of the two bullies looked like he was gripping Grace's shirt in his pudgy hands and threatening her. Peter dropped his backpack on the ground and launched himself at the boy. The bully lost his grip on Grace's shirt and went rolling down the short slope entangled with Peter, fists and arms flying as they each tried to gain the upper hand. The other kid took__ off when he saw a teacher come running to break up the fight. Already aware of the other boy's status as a bully and troublemaker, the teacher pulled Peter off him and marched the bully down__ to the principal's office. Grace was still shaking after her ordeal. Peter gave her a hug to try and calm her down. _

"_Are you ok?"_

"_Indigo."_

_Grace sobbed, the trauma finally catching up to her._

"_Indigo." _

_Grace was using one of the code words they had come up with last summer to guess what each other was feeling. Peter, always the investigator, would try to determine what Grace was feeling by the colors she named. She eventually wrote them down for him. Indigo represented being scared. She made up words to correspond with the colors of the rainbow because she loved rainbows. She loved the story of Noah and the Ark and the beautiful rainbow that was a sign that God promised never to flood the earth again. She loved hearing her mom read the story of how the animals came two by two and filled the ark so they would be saved from the flood. She was so enamored that when her father built a tree house for herself and Peter, she insisted on calling it their ark. She once asked Peter if the animals on the ark were brothers and sisters. Peter just laughed and told her to ask mom. Grace wasn't sure what was so funny, but her mom laughed as well. _

"_I'm sure they were male and female, but I don't know if they were brother and sister."_

"_I bet the girl animals all felt safe if they had a brother like Peter. I feel safe in my ark because Peter is there to protect me from danger. That's what a big brother is supposed to do, isn't it Mommy?"_

"_Yes, it is sweetheart. Peter will always protect you."_

_She drew both her children to her chest and hugged them tightly, praying they would always be safe__._

Diana knocked on Peter's office door startling him out of his trip down memory lane, and it took a few seconds for him to look up and realize she was standing there.

"What did you find?"

"Frank bought a house in the middle of nowhere in rural Virginia. There hasn't been any indication that he or his wife have lived there since they purchased it. What's interesting is that the purchase price on this house is $287,500; the exact amount of the ransom. I'm guessing you know something or you wouldn't have asked me to check the mortgage records first. What do you know about this house?"

"I'm guessing the address is 6828 Frontier Lane?"

"How did you know that?"

"It's the house I grew up in."

Peter paused with a reflective look on his face and Diana didn't want to break the silence.

"He bought the house I grew up in. Why? All these years she didn't want anything to do with me. Why now? What triggered this? Does it even matter?"

"I don't know, Peter, this isn't making any sense to me."

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking out loud. I don't know why, but I think I know who the kidnapper is."

##

_**Wednesday afternoon, 3 p.m.**_

Mozzie was on his way back to June's mansion Wednesday afternoon hiding a wrapped package in his knapsack to alleviate his conscience. He assumed Neal had been up all night painting and wouldn't want to be disturbed very early. As Mozzie approached the mansion, he spotted Frank just outside the door talking on his cell phone. Mozzie scurried out of view and crept closer until he felt safely hidden behind a tree. He could only hear parts of the conversation, but didn't dare to get any closer.

"Flowers…painting…delivery…Burke's wife…evidence of forgery…stolen property…Burke will cooperate…his sister…revenge is sweet."

Frank laughed, hung up the phone and knocked on the door. It didn't take long for Mozzie to realize both the Suit and Mrs. Suit were in serious trouble. Mozzie didn't like the setup to begin with and he was beginning to realize that something was not right here. He didn't buy Frank's story, but he was worried about how to discuss it with Neal. He would most likely dismiss whatever Mozzie said as his usual paranoia. Mozzie was convinced Neal would need the package more than ever, but he had to get it to him without Frank seeing. Mozzie mulled over the pieces of Frank's phone conversation in his mind. Something was being delivered to Mrs. Suit; something that would be evidence of a forgery. What would that have to do with stolen property? It sounded like Frank planned to get revenge on someone and was arranging to have "evidence" delivered. Judging by the proximity of the words "delivery" and "Burke's wife" Mozzie was assuming that whatever evidence Frank had would likely be delivered to Mrs. Suit. Mozzie couldn't imagine any reason why Frank would have a vendetta against Mrs. Suit, so Mozzie assumed it would have to be either the Suit, Neal, or both. The reference to the Suit's sister had Mozzie confused. He had done quite a bit of research on him when Neal was being pursued, and he had never come across any records of her. Unlike Neal, Mozzie still had grave reservations about trusting suits, and this case only strengthened his case. The Suit was hiding information and obviously had been for years. If only he had a name to research maybe he could fill in some of the blanks. Mozzie continued to ponder until he finally decided he had stalled long enough. He didn't want to arrive too soon to make Frank suspicious that he had overheard his phone call. He climbed the stairs, knocked and waited for June or the housekeeper to answer.

##

_**Wednesday afternoon, 3 p.m.**_

Elle had come home early after a meeting with a client. She didn't have any pressing events, so she had decided to work from home for what was left of the afternoon. She had just made herself a chef salad and set it on the table when the door rang. Satch beat her to the door and started barking. Elle realized it must not be someone Satch was familiar with and cautiously opened the door. She came face to face with a delivery man holding a large bouquet of flowers in one hand.

"I have a delivery for Peter & Elizabeth Burke."

"I'm Elizabeth Burke."

"Please sign here for proof of delivery."

Elle accepted the electronic device the delivery guy handed her and signed her name. He then clipped it back on his belt and handed her the huge bouquet he had been carrying.  
"There's one more item."

Elle walked into the dining room, set the flowers on the table and then turned around and saw that the delivery guy was holding a big black package with a wide gold bow on it. She walked back toward the door to accept the package from him. She thanked him and he turned around to leave. As he was walking down the steps, she saw a white van parked on the street listing the business name as _Freddie's Flowers_. She had never heard of them, which she thought was strange since she worked with florists on a regular basis. She set the package by the mantle deciding to wait to open it until Peter came home and went to inspect the flowers. The little note tucked in the flowers read, "_You don't know what you have until it's gone."_ Elle wasn't sure what to make of the note. She didn't know if it was sincere or some kind of threat; the lack of signature was unsettling. She wasn't aware of any reason someone would want to send them flowers and a package. She rummaged through her purse for her cell phone and dialed Peter. She let it ring until she got his voicemail.

"_You've reached Peter Burke. Leave a message at the beep."_

"Hey honey, some flowers and a big package were just delivered. The flowers have a strange message. The note says "You don't know what you have until it's gone." I'm not sure what that means, but it doesn't sound good and it's not signed. Is there something I should know? Give me a call when you have a chance. I won't open it until you get home. I love you. Bye!"


	5. Chapter 5

_Unintended Consequences_

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Yet another chapter complete, and the suspense is building! Please review and release some of that stress.

_**Chapter 5**_

_Wednesday Afternoon 3:20 p.m._

The door opened and Mozzie saw June standing there with a delighted look in her face.  
"So nice to see you again, Mozzie."  
"You too June, always a pleasure! Now if I may ask your help, I need to leave a package for Neal."  
"Well certainly dear, he's upstairs but he does have company."  
"Yes, I'm aware of that. Frank is not a good man and I think Neal has gotten himself in over his head. I need your help."  
Mozzie pulled the large package from the knapsack and whispered in June's ear as he handed her the package. June paled at Mozzie's words.  
"Oh, dear, that does sound serious. I'll make sure he gets it."  
"Thank you. I do need to see him for just a few minutes. Please don't tell Frank our little secret."  
"My lips are sealed!"  
##

Neal barely had a chance to walk to the door and open it before Mozzie pushed it open and brushed by him totally ignoring Frank. The little guy seemed to be very nervous about something.  
"I've been thinking, I know you're still within your two mile radius, so it shouldn't set off any alarms, but could you at least cover up the little green light on your tracking anklet? You're going into a dark building and that green light could give you away."  
"Good thinking, Moz. What do you suggest?"  
Moz pulled some electrical tape out of his pocket.  
"I happen to have just the thing. Use this. Now, you have the location, is there anything else you need me for?"  
Neal could sense that Mozzie seemed to be antsy to leave; maybe Frank was really getting to him.  
"Thanks for your help Moz. We wouldn't have been able to figure this out without you."  
"Is everything ok? Where's the painting?"  
"Frank was just trying to give me a heart attack. I woke up and the painting was gone. Frank showed up and he said he had already put it down in his car."  
Frank felt it necessary to defend himself and couldn't resist entering the conversation.

"Well, I was getting nervous and I didn't want to wake you. I was thinking it was probably safest to get it out of your apartment as soon as possible in case your FBI friend decided to show up and check on you!"  
"I appreciate that Frank, really I do, but you really should have woken me up. I almost had a panic attack when I saw it was missing. I was ready to pull out my hair in frustration because I thought we had lost our one chance to save Grace."  
"I'm sorry man, I just wasn't thinking I guess."  
Moz couldn't resist chuckling.

"You know, Cicero said, 'It is foolish to tear one's hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by baldness'."  
"That's not funny, Moz."  
"Of course it is, Neal. Why do you suppose I have such a cheerful disposition? I don't have any hair to pull out. That's gotta be the upside to being follicley challenged!"  
Neal really did start to laugh at that comment. Mozzie was relieved as it seemed to break the tense atmosphere. They went over the listings of the buildings Neal would be searching. He didn't want to start too early in case someone checked on Grace and discovered her missing, but they didn't want to be too late either. As with any good con, it had to be timed just right. Mozzie finally stood up and stretched.  
"Well, I'm sure you have this under control, Neal, you don't need my assistance any longer. I have other pressing engagements I need to attend to. I'll see you later."  
Mozzie shot a distrustful glance over at Frank.  
"Not a pleasure seeing you again, Frank."  
"Likewise."  
Mozzie walked past Neal giving him a pat on the shoulder.  
"I hope this goes well. Get Grace back safe!"  
He leaned closer to Neal's ear.

"You need to talk to June before you leave. It's of vital importance."  
Mozzie saw Neal nod slightly. He didn't want to bother Neal with trivial details about overhearing Frank's conversation, but he was seriously concerned for Neal's safety as well as the Suit and Mrs. Suit; something just wasn't right. He wanted Neal to concentrate on finding Grace instead of worrying about how to protect Peter or Elle. It occurred to him that a year ago he would have called himself crazy for even considering helping any suits for any reason; yet here he was not only considering it, but actually doing that very thing. He just wasn't sure if he should thank or criticize Neal for this. Either way it was up to him to find the painting Frank had mentioned before the police did and get Mrs. Suit to safety before Frank could harm her. He knew both Peter and Neal would thank him later; at least he hoped they would be able to.

##

_Wednesday afternoon 5 p.m._

Diana looked up to see Hughes knocking on Peter's door.

"Excuse me Agent Barrigan, Agent Jones. Could I have a minute with Agent Burke?"

"Certainly sir."

Both agents echoed in chorus and both gave Peter a worried look as Diana followed Jones and turned to walk past Hughes. There was no way this was good news she thought; as if he doesn't have enough to handle already.

"Peter, you know I respect you greatly as an agent."

"Yes, sir. I know that."

"So please tell me you are not in cahoots with Caffrey."

"Sir, are you feeling ok? You know you signed off on the deal, right?"

"I don't mean Caffrey working for us. I mean you working with Caffrey; doing…whatever he does."

"I'm sorry sir, I'm not following."

"I just got a tip from a friend at the NYPD. They have a search warrant to search the home of one Peter Burke. Would there be any possible reason they might have probable cause to do that?"

"None that I'm aware of, sir."

"He said that the specific item of interest listed on the search warrant was a painting by Vermeer entitled _The Concert_. You've heard of it?"

"Of course, the FBI has increased their attention and are pushing hard to solve the case."

"Peter, I can't emphasize how bad this will look for the bureau if it turns out you had anything to do with this robbery. They have an affidavit of a CI who has been very useful in the past. This CI swears he saw you at an auction house buying this very painting and arranging to have it delivered via courier. They even produced what looks like to be a valid bill of sale. They also have the signature of your wife signing for the delivery just this afternoon. This is a hot tip, Peter, they are not going to move slowly on this. I need you to be straight with me. Do you and Neal have some kind of lucrative deal going on? Is he betraying you and selling you out now? You know he's the best forger there is. He could have easily created this bill of sale."

Peter was still a little stunned. First, his sister was kidnapped. Now Hughes was insinuating that he was involved in a con with Neal regarding a famous painting stolen almost 10 years ago _and_ that Neal was turning the tables on him. It didn't make any sense. He had plenty of enemies but...

"Sir, I need to see the file on the Gardner museum robbery."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea right now. Any FBI agent reviewing a case file that he might have had something to do with would be highly suspicious. It would raise too many questions."

"Fine, then look at it for me. I need to know if Frank Corleone was ever one of the suspects for that heist."

"Peter, I will look into it for you, but you haven't answered my question yet. Are you and Caffrey pulling a con on the FBI? Is Caffrey involved with this stolen painting? I need the truth, Peter. You know there is nothing I can do to protect you or Neal if they discover either of you are involved with this stolen painting."

"Sir, on my honor, I know nothing about this painting. I don't know if Neal is involved. He called in sick today. I know how that sounds, but I checked his anklet and his _is_ at his apartment. I can assure you I am not working with him behind the bureau's back to pull off any art heists."

"I'll take your word on that Peter. I trust you not to let the bureau down."

"Thank you for your confidence in me, sir."

"Why don't you go home, check on Elle and make sure she's ok, I'm sure this will be upsetting to her. I will see what I can find out on our end. I will call you when I look at the Gardner robbery case files."

##

_Wednesday afternoon 5 p.m._

Elle was sitting on the couch working on a seating chart for her next catering event when the doorbell rang. Wondering if it might be another strange delivery, she cautiously looked through the peephole to see Mozzie standing there. She quickly opened the door for him and he entered without any type of greeting. He proceeded to look around the living room.  
"Mozzie? Is everything ok? Neal's not here."  
"I know that Mrs. Suit. Has anyone been here? Any deliveries? Have you been here all afternoon? I'm looking for a painting. It's got to be here. We have to find it and you'll need to come with me. You're in danger."  
"There was a floral delivery earlier. They brought this beautiful bouquet on the dining room table. There's also a present sitting by the mantel, but I was waiting for Peter to get home so we could open it together."  
"I need to see it _now_."  
Mozzie walked toward the mantel, and carefully unwrapped the bow before he reached inside the beautiful felt covering and pulled out a painting far enough for him to realize it was Neal's forgery. Well, that explains where the painting went. Mozzie groaned at the realization that it also proved that Frank was up to a bigger con than either of them had suspected. Mozzie knew that the painting needed to disappear before it got the Suits or Neal in trouble. He quickly slid the painting back inside the pouch.  
"Grab whatever you need quickly. We have to go. It's not safe here. "  
Elle had her shoes on, found her coat and had just grabbed her purse when the sound of approaching sirens filled the air.  
"Mrs. Suit…Elle! They're here. We have to go _now_."  
With one hand clutching the precious painting, Mozzie reached with his free hand to open the door and then grabbed Elle's hand and pulled her out the back door.


	6. Chapter 6

_Unintended Consequences_

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Another installment! I might even have another chapter up tomorrow, since I've been stuck in the house because of bad weather all day yesterday, all day today and probably all day tomorrow although I'm working on an escape plan ; )

_**Chapter 6**_

_Wednesday evening 6 p.m._

Peter arrived home to find the street he and Elle lived on crawling with cops. He shouldn't have been surprised, the Vermeer was a _very_ high profile painting. Rumors of its presence were bound to cause quite a commotion. Peter climbed the few steps to his home and was stopped by a uniformed police officer on the top step. Peter was about to flash his badge when he thought twice; trying to show authority in this situation would probably make him look like he was trying to interfere in the investigation and he did not need those charges brought up.

"I'm Peter Burke. This is my home. May I ask what is going in here?"

"We have a warrant to search these premises."

"May I see the warrant, please?"

The officer handed him the warrant. It was there for all to see, both his and Elle's names and their address. It specified their home as the place to be searched for Vermeer's painting, "The Concert."

Peter had seen more than his share of search warrants, but he had never seen one with his name in it. He felt shivers going up and down his spine as he had an unsettling feeling this was somehow related to the kidnapping.

Peter handed the warrant back to the officer.

"May I enter?"

"You may stand just inside the entry way, sir, but don't touch anything. There will be another officer inside, check in with him. They're just wrapping up. You'll be free to go about your business after we have completed the search."

Peter nervously stepped inside. He wasn't sure why he was nervous, it wasn't like he had anything to hide, but he had the definite feeling someone was trying hard to frame him and it was making his stomach queasy. He walked over to the young man standing near the couch. He looked very young, probably a rookie. Peter was still in his suit and tie hoping he looked authoritative. He flashed his FBI badge hoping to impress him.

"I'm Peter Burke. This is my home, do you know if they found anything?"

"I'm not aware they've found anything, sir. They're downstairs right now."

"I'm sure they wanted to spend their day surrounded by cobwebs."

"I'm sure they didn't sir, but to find this Vermeer, I don't think they'd mind."

"Would you mind if I looked at the flowers? My wife must have just gotten them; they weren't here this morning. I don't think they're hiding a painting."

Peter turned and looked at the rookie for an answer.

"Officer...?"

"Officer Keeney, sir. I don't think it would hurt if you looked at the flowers. As you said sir, they're not hiding the painting."

Peter walked the couple steps to the table and removed the card attached to the flowers. He flipped it open. '_You don't know what you have until it's gone.'_ Peter felt his blood starting to boil. He had a sneaky suspicion that Frank was involved in this as well. It wasn't clear who the note was written to, so he wasn't sure if Elle was the one in danger or if it was meant for him. It was no wonder Elle had called him wondering what was up; the card was very disturbing. He turned to face the rookie, trying to calm himself down.

"How long have you been with the force?"

"Two months, sir."

"Welcome to law enforcement. I hope you enjoy the ride."

"I hope to, sir. May I ask a personal question?"

If this could buy him any more information regarding the situation, Peter was more than happy to comply.

"Certainly."

"How can you be so calm? I mean this is your house and there are cops everywhere looking through your stuff. You seem like a nice guy and you work for the FBI. What happened?"

Peter took it as a compliment that the rookie thought he looked calm, at least he was fooling someone.

"Work for the force for a few years and I guarantee you'll develop enemies. This is what happens when they come after you and your family."

Officer Keeney turned a bit pale as if the thought had never occurred to him that someone might come after him or his family.

"Well I'd say someone is watching out for you then, because as far as I know they haven't found anything."

Peter felt a sigh of relief escaping, but then realized if Elle had signed for the package she had to have been home. He said a quick prayer of thanks that the painting had not been found and also for Elle's protection wherever she might be.

"Excuse me for just a moment."

Peter stepped away intending to call Hughes when he noticed he had a missed call from Elle and a new voicemail; hopefully she was still ok. He held the voicemail button down. _'You have one new message.' _He pressed the button to play the message and heard Elle's familiar voice.

"Hey, Honey, some flowers and a big package were just delivered. It has a strange message; it says '_You don't know what you have until it's gone_.' I'm not sure what that means but it doesn't sound good. Is there something I should know? Give me a call when you have a chance. I won't open it until you get home. I love you. Bye!"

Peter clicked the button to save the message forgetting about Hughes for a moment. He was fairly certain the package Elle referred to in her voicemail must be the Vermeer painting. The question was why was it delivered and where had it disappeared to? Peter highly doubted Elle would have just left with it. It didn't sound like she knew what it was when she left the message. She said she was going to wait until he got home to open it, so he was sure something else had happened; he wasn't coming up with any good scenarios. Peter tried calling her cell but it was going straight to voicemail; not a good sign. He turned to the young rookie again.

"Was my wife here? Have you seen her?"

"No, sir. There was no one here but the dog when we arrived."

"The dog was ok? Not drugged or tied up or anything?"

"Nope, he just came out to greet us, sniffed and barked a couple times. Didn't seem to be happy we were here, but he eventually went upstairs."

Knowing that Satch was ok made Peter feel better; if someone had tried to take Elizabeth by force, Satch would have tried to protect her, would not have stopped barking and more than likely been hurt in the process. The only other explanation was that Elle left with someone Satch knew and was familiar with. Neal. Peter had a sharp intake of breath as the obvious answer fell into place. Had Neal taken her? Was he playing Peter as Hughes suspected? He knew that Elle trusted Neal, even more so than he did. She would have left with him without any questions. Peter had been certain that Frank had been out to get him because of his sister, but now he was beginning to consider that Neal may also be involved. Would Neal have known Frank? It did make sense that they would have. Neal had so much going for him, so why would he partner with Frank? Were they two separate cases or somehow horribly intertwined? The list of questions Peter had seemed to be growing and he wasn't finding the answers he was looking for. He would have questioned the rookie further, but his cell phone rang. Peter looked at the caller ID and noticed it was Hughes. Good he thought, hopefully he found the case file from the Gardner museum.

"This is Agent Burke."

"Peter, it's Hughes. I found the file you asked about, but first I wanted to know what you found at home."

"Nothing as far as I know, but Elle is missing. She left me a voicemail and said she would be at home, but she isn't anywhere to be found. One of the cops I talked to said she wasn't here when they arrived. Something is wrong; I can just feel it."

"Peter, we'll find her and we'll find Grace."

"Yeah, but will it be in time? Never mind. You said you have the file on the Gardner museum robbery. Did you find anything?"

"You were right, Frank Corleone was one of the people investigated, but there was never any hard evidence linking him to the crime."

"Was Neal ever suspected in that heist?"

"I think that's probably one of the few he wasn't."

"Hmm. Ok. Thanks. I really appreciate this, sir."

Peter flipped the phone closed and turned to the rookie.

"I need to be going. It was nice to meet you, Officer Keeney."

"Pleasure is mine, sir."

Peter turned around and headed back out the door. The cop was still standing at the entrance.

"I am sorry about this, sir."

"It's not your fault, officer. You're only doing your job."

Peter walked down the stairs to his car frustrated with the growing possibility that Neal was involved and Elle's whereabouts were still unknown. A thought hit him and he speed dialed Jones.

"Jones, I need you to pull tracking data on Caffrey. I need to know where he is right now."

Peter could hear the keys clicking in the background.

"He's still in his apartment, Peter. It doesn't look like he's left all day. You know there is a possibility he's sick."

"He's not. He's involved somehow and I need to find out how. I'm going over there right now to check on him and then I'm coming back to the office. Did you find the blueprints?"

"Yes, sir. Diana and I are looking them over right now. We can brief you when you get here."

"Good. I'll expect that."

Peter snapped his phone shut, got in his car and drove to Neal's apartment already convinced that Neal had betrayed him and kidnapped Elle.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Unintended Consequences**_

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Another chapter just in time for Thanksgiving. I hope you all enjoy! Have a very Happy Thanksgiving! There is much to be thankful for (including the show ; )

Chapter 7

_Wednesday 5:15 pm_

Mozzie & Elle had run a few feet down the alley when Elle pulled on Mozzie's arm and led him behind a privacy fence into the neighbor's yard. They could hear the police cars screech to a halt not too far away. He and Elle were both breathing heavily leaning against the fence as adrenaline was coursing through their veins. He knew they would never have been able to outrun the suits, especially with the painting, so he was glad Elle had pulled him in here. They could hear cops shouting in the distance, but they couldn't make out the words.

"That was close Mozzie. Too close. What is going on?"

Mozzie leaned a bit closer to hear Elle's whisper and responded with his own.

"We're not out of the woods yet. They're looking for the painting. I'll explain more later, but we need to shut our cell phones off. The cops will hear them if they're outside. I'm sure someone will be stationed on the back patio. We have to stay here until the coast is clear. They won't find the painting, so it shouldn't take too long."

Both were busy trying to shut off their cell phones as quickly as possible when they heard the sound of footsteps coming closer and closer. Both Mozzie and Elle held their breath as the footsteps retreated back toward the Burke home. Elle leaned toward Mozzie's ear whispering again.

"I told Peter I would be home. He'll be expecting me."

"He's concerned for your safety. As long as you stay with me you'll be safe. If you go back into that house, you're in danger. You can call him in a bit, but right now, we cannot afford to make noise; voices carry. We have to wait for an opportunity. 'Patience serves as a protection against wrongs as clothes do against cold'."

"Who said that?"

"Leonardo da Vinci."

"I can't imagine what would have happened if you hadn't been there. Thank you, Mozzie. You never cease to amaze me."

Elle wanted to reach over and give Mozzie a hug, but she didn't want to offend the little guy or make too much noise.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Mrs. Suit."

Mozzie whispered back and then slid over to the fence entrance and peered around at the Burke home. There was still a cop pacing back and forth by the back patio entrance.

"He's just not going to go away. We may be here for a while. Why don't you sit down. It will be more comfortable. Do you know if this neighbor is home? We really don't need them sneaking up on us."

"They're gone for a week. Their daughter just had a baby, so I figured it should be safe here."

##

_Wednesday 7 p.m._

Neal was perusing a new issue of an art history magazine to pass the time until he needed to get ready. Frank had left not too long ago telling Neal he needed to take a walk to clear his head; that was fine with Neal. He had gotten sick of Frank's attitude anyway and just wanted this evening to be over. Part of him was wishing that he and Kate had never met Frank and Grace, but he remembered they did have a lot of good times before the little museum incident. Neal was startled from his thoughts by a knock on the door. He opened it to find an angry looking Peter.

"Where's Elle?"

Neal tried not to look shocked. He hadn't seen her in a couple days and couldn't imagine what had happened to make Peter this angry. He tried to deflect with his usual chipper tone.

"What? No hello, No sorry you're sick?"

He stepped back to let Peter into his apartment.

"Seriously Peter, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You don't look sick. Are you lying to me? I need to know where Elle is. She said she would be at home, but she's not. She's not answering her cell and I know you took her."

Neal held up his index finger to motion for Peter to be quiet.

"You should really stop and listen to yourself. Do you even know what you're saying?"

"I'm saying a painting and some flowers were delivered this afternoon to my wife. There was a threatening note with them and now Elle and the painting are missing. The cop said that Satch wasn't barking or tearing up the place when they arrived, so that means she had to have left with someone Satch knew. It had to be you."

"Peter. Look at me."

Neal waited until Peter was looking directly at him.

"I would never hurt Elle. _Never._ I may be suspected of a lot of things, but never this. You can search the place if you want, but she's not here. I haven't seen her since we had dinner at your place a few days ago."

Peter walked through Neal's apartment and out onto the roof terrace. There was no sign of Elle. He walked back inside trying to figure out what to do next. Neal was still standing by the couch with a hurt look on his face.

"Peter, check my tracking anklet. I haven't left here all day. I wasn't feeling good this morning, but I'm feeling much better now. I'll see you at the office in the morning, ok? I will even help you track her down if you need me to, but I swear I haven't seen her, touched her, or harmed her in any way."

"And you expect me to believe you?"

"Peter, if it was anyone else you might have a case, but this is Elle we're talking about here. She believes in me. She accepted me as I am; a convicted felon. I will never forget that, and I would _never_ do anything to hurt her."

Peter looked like the wind had been taken out of his sails. He put his hands over his face, took a couple deep breaths and finally looked over at Neal.

"I'm sorry I doubted you. She's obviously not here. I did check your tracking data and it confirmed that you've been here all day. I just…I didn't want to believe it. I'm sorry. Forgive me?"

"Already forgiven, Peter. Are you certain she's been kidnapped? Has there been a ransom demand? It seems like something else is bothering you. Is there something other than Elle? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Peter realized Neal really did seem sincere about his loyalty to Elle and his desire to help, but he didn't want to bring Neal in at this point in the operation; he simply didn't have the time to explain everything. He was also still a bit embarrassed he had thought Neal was the culprit.

Neal felt bad for him. He knew what it was like to be worried about someone you love, but he really had no idea where Elle was. He also couldn't really help his partner at the moment because he was trying to save Grace. He wanted Peter's opinion on what he would do in this situation and how he would look for Grace, but every time he had picked up his phone to call something had happened to distract him. He hadn't been part of the search team during the Gless kidnapping because he had been kidnapped himself and had been playing chauffeur to Mr. Loze. He really wanted to pick Peter's brain about what the right process for searching was, but now it seemed like he was out of time and Peter had enough problems of his own to deal with. He was a little worried because Grace was too important to mess this up and even though he knew Kate was dead, somehow he feared she would never forgive him if he let something happen to Grace. Neal looked up to see Peter grimacing as if fighting some inner battle. He sighed once and turned toward the door shaking his head.

"No, there's nothing you can do. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'm sorry I didn't trust you more. I know you wouldn't hurt Elle. I'm not sure what came over me. It's nothing I can't handle myself. I'll see you at the office tomorrow."

Neal closed the door behind Peter and leaned against it breathing a huge sigh of relief. He really wished he could offer to help find Elle right now. He could see that Peter was obviously distressed, but Grace was taking priority at the moment. Hopefully if all went well, he could call Peter later and ask to help find Elle.

Leave me a review and let me know what you think : )


	8. Chapter 8

_**Unintended Consequences**_

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

_Chapter 8_

_Wednesday 7:00 pm_

"I like what you've done with Thursday!"

Elle looked over at Mozzie and smiled.

"It definitely has a beautiful view."

"Indeed it does. Would you like a glass of wine? It might help take your mind off your current troubles."

"Sure, that would be nice. So, tell me again why am I in danger?"

"Did you know Peter has a sister?"

"A sister? He's never mentioned one. Both his parents died several years ago, but anytime we went there for any holidays it was never mentioned. Why would you think so?"

Mozzie didn't respond immediately and Elle was also quiet for a moment before another thought hit her.

"Mozzie, Peter was acting strange this morning. He called and asked me to look for something. It was a pink index card. I thought it was strange, but that might explain something. He was interested in indigo. It meant I'm scared, but I'm sure it wasn't Peter who was scared."

"Someone is trying to frame Peter for something. The painting delivered to your house…it's a forgery…I…I saw it being made. I overheard a conversation and I knew you were in danger."

"Do you know who it is? Can we tell Peter?"

"Peter and Neal are both in danger, but I'm sure they can take care of themselves; they don't need to worry about your safety as well. I didn't tell Neal what I was doing. He didn't know you were in danger. I have no idea what Peter is up to, but this guy Frank seems to have it in for him. It seemed more urgent to me to rescue you and the painting. If someone gets a hold of this painting it would be serious trouble for both Peter and Neal. It should be safe in a few hours to make contact. This guy Neal is working with is bad news. I don't want to tip him off where we are or that we have the painting. This event was scheduled at 9 p.m., if they want to make contact before then they'll have to contact us."

"Does Neal have something to do with this painting? Are they trying to frame him or Peter? Why was it delivered to our place?"

"Please don't worry about the painting. We'll figure out what to do. I'm just not so sure we want the Suit involved."

"Mozzie, Peter's already involved. The painting was left for us at our house. Someone is intentionally out to get us.

"Never argue with a lady when she's right."

"Thanks Mozzie. I really appreciate your help."

_Wednesday 8:00 p.m._

The elevator doors opened at the 21st floor of the FBI building and Peter stepped out. He pulled open the glass doors and saw Jones and Diana having a discussion. Jones looked up and saw him approach the desk.

"What did you find at your place?"

"The rookie I talked to wasn't aware they found anything. There was a large bouquet of flowers on the table that was apparently part of the delivery, but no painting. Elle was at home to sign for them. She left me a voicemail letting me know about the delivery, but she wasn't there when the police arrived. I've tried her on her cell, but it's going directly to voicemail. I'm concerned this is somehow connected to the kidnapping, but why take her and the incriminating painting? If someone wanted to nail me, why go through all the trouble of having the painting delivered and then have it disappear? I can't figure that out and it's driving me nuts."

Jones put a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"It's ok. We'll find them, both of them. What did Caffrey have to say?"

"He swears he had no idea where Elle is. He says he would never hurt her. I believe him. He has always been very loyal to her. I don't think he faked the tracking data either, so we're back to square one. I have no idea where she is. What did you find?"

"This is what we found on the blueprints."

Jones pointed to the blueprints laid out on his desk that he had been discussing with Diana when Peter approached.

"It looks like a fairly simple layout. One rear entrance and a garage door with a loading dock. It's one level so there shouldn't be any stairs. There are some offices on the left hand side. My guess is this is where the exchange will happen. I doubt it would happen in an open warehouse area because it's harder to protect your back in an open area."

Peter had to admit he was impressed with their resourcefulness.

"Have you found a good place to park the surveillance van? It needs to be a block or two away so they don't get suspicious, but close enough so that you have a good response time."

Jones moved the blueprints out of the way and pulled over a map.

"We think the best place would be here. It has a line of sight down the alley but still enough traffic so it doesn't stick out."

"What's your opinion, Diana?"

"I agree with Jones. Probably not as close as we'd like to be, but based on the circumstances that is the best possible location. You can wear a wire and we can monitor the situation.""Sounds good. Do we have the money ready for me to take?"

"Yes, it's all been marked and processed. It's ready to go."

"How much time do we have left?"

"Less than an hour Boss, we should get going and get set up."

"Ok. Let's do this."

Peter stopped and looked at both Jones and Diana with a serious expression on his face.

"I should have told you this earlier, but I'm fairly certain the kidnapper is out for revenge against me. I'm not sure how it all comes together yet, but the kidnapper is one of the suspects in the Gardner museum robbery. One of the paintings just so happens to be the very painting someone is trying to frame me with at my house. Hughes informed me earlier that the NYPD had a search warrant for my house. When I went there, they didn't find anything. I'm not sure what has happened with the painting but they left a beautiful bouquet with a sinister warning 'You don't know what you have until it's gone.' This is revenge and we have to stop it before it's too late."

Jones held up his hand for Peter to pause.

"Slow down Peter; we're not caught up with you yet. Who is the kidnapper? Do you think he has Elle and Grace?"

Peter looked over at them with defeat in his eyes, he really didn't want to tell them about what he thought was a failure on his part to protect his sister and his wife, but Jones and Diana had a right to know why they were putting their lives in danger.

_20 years ago…_

"_Grace, don't do this!"_

"_I can do anything I want Peter, you can't stop me."_

"_Don't throw your life away Grace, Frank is a criminal, he's never going to change!"_

"_I'm in love with him Peter, he treats me like a lady. He gives me anything a woman could want."_

"_Have you ever stopped to think how he acquired the diamond necklace he got you last week?"_

"_Why does it matter? He gave it to me because he loves me."_

"_Someday you're going to grow up Grace. Someday you're going to realize I'm right. You have so much potential, there is a good man out there for you…it's just not Frank. Please don't do this."_

"_I am marrying him Peter and you can't stop me."_

"_I'm trying to protect you Grace. That's what big brothers do!"_

"_I don't need your protection anymore Peter. I'm a big girl now and I can take care of myself!"_

"_You're 18! You don't know how the world works."_

"_Frank is going to protect me, Peter. I don't need you anymore and I don't need you to tell me how to run my life. Back off."_

"_Grace, I'm just trying to help."_

"_I don't want your help again, ever!"_

_Peter had only spoken to Grace once since then. The first Thanksgiving that Grace and Frank had been married they had come to see Peter and their parents.. They had a huge fight over the way to cook the turkey. Peter was certain that it was more because of his continued dislike of Frank and his criminal activities, but the evening ended with Grace promising that she would never come for Thanksgiving again and if she never saw him or their parents again it would be too soon. Peter told her that someday he would say 'I told you so' which only made Grace more angry. She slammed the door as she followed her husband to the car._

##

Both Jones and Diana were frozen to their chairs listening to Peter recount the story about his childhood; both were blown away with this information. They had never imagined Peter had a sister. Jones managed to find his voice first.

"So, she's your little sister? You've never mentioned her."

"She was…She was a great little sister. I was always trying to protect her. One day the school bully had gotten to her and I tackled him. She was so scared she was crying…We had this code system that we had made up for fun. It told us how the other was feeling without having to let anyone else know."

Realization hit Diana.

"That was a code word then…indigo. That's what tipped you off."

"It had been so long, I haven't thought of that in years, but it was her voice. I knew something bad had happened. I realized I knew who the male voice was as well; he was taunting me. He knew I was furious with Grace when they got married."

"The kidnapper was her husband?"

"I'm afraid so…well, I doubt he took her himself, but he was definitely the force behind it. He said he was giving me the opportunity to buy her back. The amount was so low that it had to have a specific purpose and it had to be related to Grace. When you brought me that report, I realized that he had bought our childhood home for Grace. I have no idea what happened, or why he would resort to something as foolish as this for a mortgage, but I think there's more to it than this. I'm just not sure what yet. I always knew that someday Frank would do something to Grace. I told her he would, but she would never listen. We had a huge fight and we've never spoken again. It's been 20 years."

"So, even after all this you want to help her. Are you sure she wants your help?"

"I'm her big brother…I have to…She used to think I could protect her from anything. Things changed, but she is my sister even if she doesn't want to be. I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier the danger you were in. Frank, her husband, seems to have a vendetta against me and anyone associated with me is in harm's way."

"I'm in. Let me know what you need me to do."

"Thanks, Jones."

"I'm in too boss, whatever you need."

"Thanks, Diana. I really do appreciate this, both of you. The exchange is at 9 p.m. Remember my sister's life and possibly Elle's are at stake."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Unintended Consequences**_

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: I know this is a short chapter for me, but I just had to end it here, the next chapter is at least twice as long…

_Chapter 9_

_Wednesday 8:45 p.m._

Peter, Diana and Jones were sitting in the surveillance van about two blocks away from the rendezvous point specified by the kidnappers.

"You're good to go boss. The wire is in place and the money is here. We'll monitor your conversation and move in if necessary."

"Until we have him confessing on tape, do not come in, ok? We need physical or verbal evidence to tie him to this. I don't want him to have any chance of walking. I do not want to tip them off that you're here, understood? Protecting Grace is of the utmost importance!"

"Yes, Boss."

The reply from both Jones and Diana was perfectly in unison. They didn't want to alert the kidnappers to an FBI presence unless it was absolutely necessary. What they really wanted was to get some hard evidence on what Frank was up to and why.

##

_Wednesday 8:50 p.m._

Neal had changed into an all black ensemble complete with a black ski mask to conceal his pale skin. He had humored Mozzie by putting a piece of the black electrical tape over the green light on his tracking anklet. Actually, it was a very brilliant idea and Neal didn't know why he hadn't thought of it himself. He slipped up to the building quietly. He was confident though that this would be the one where Grace would be. If not, it was only a few minutes before Frank would make the drop and give him a call with her actual location. Well, at least if everything turned out ok. Frank seemed to be really worried that the painting might not be enough and they would want more and refuse to tell him where Grace was.

Seeing no evidence of anyone in sight, he quickly turned on a small flashlight and held it between his teeth while he hurriedly picked the lock to the rear warehouse door. The knob clicked open on his first try. Neal turned the flashlight off so as not to alert anyone inside to his presence. He silently turned the knob and carefully opened the door trying to avoid any creaking. He slipped in quietly and stood still for a few seconds trying to get his bearings. Neal finally found what he considered to be office rooms. He didn't expect to find Grace among the products lining the shelves. A break room or office would be the most convenient place to stash someone. There were several windows in the office letting moonlight flow freely into the room illuminating a figure. He hoped it was Grace, but he needed to be closer to be sure.

##

_Wednesday 8:58 p.m._

The moon was shining brightly as Peter quickly scanned the landscape for anything that might be out of place. He waited a minute listening for any noises nearby to indicate anyone approaching. Hearing nothing, he stealthily crept toward the building, the case with the money in his left hand. He reached the edge of the building and carefully peeked around the corner. He could just barely see a door on the far end and eased around the corner slowly inching toward it. He carefully turned the knob and entered the warehouse. Suspicious as to why it would be dark, he drew his gun from his holster, released the safety and quietly entered the building. Peter crept further into the warehouse, gun gripped tightly in his hand resting at his side.

"Jones, this isn't looking like an ordinary drop. There aren't any lights on. I'm proceeding with caution."

"Copy that."

_Wednesday 9:00 pm_

Peter felt reassured that Jones and Diana could hear everything going on, because wandering around in a dark place was not his favorite pastime. It helped to know backup was mere minutes away. Peter knew this was the right place; Frank must have something sinister planned. It _was_ 9 p.m. Frank had to be here somewhere; just because he couldn't see him didn't mean he wasn't here. He was certain Grace was here as well and he fully intended to rescue her at all costs; this was personal. Taking one step at a time, Peter slowly advanced toward a small office room ahead on his left spilling moonlight out the warehouse floor. The moonlight was briefly interrupted and Peter realized he was seeing a shadow of someone moving. He crept closer and stood at the edge of the doorframe just out of the moonlight. He set the case down and brought his gun up to eye-level. He realized his hand was trembling slightly and he steadied it with his other hand.

He realized that he wasn't dealing with a school bully anymore; this time he had a weapon and this time his sister was in real danger. He leaned around the corner daring to step into the moonlight and saw a man dressed in black with his hands on his sister. Assuming it was Frank, Peter felt fury at his brother-in-law wash over him. The protective brother instinct that had been hidden for so long merged with his FBI persona. His reflexes kicked in when he saw a flash of silver and recognized it to be a knife. Fearing imminent danger, his finger squeezed the trigger sending the bullet rocketing out of the chamber and into the man Peter thought had ruined his sister's life.

##

"Bang!"

The sound of the gunshot through their headsets startled both Jones and Diana.

"Peter!"

Diana felt a wave of guilt that they had sent him into an ambush situation all alone. She didn't remember him grabbing a vest. She felt Jones' hand on her shoulder looking at her.

"He's ok. He's gonna be ok."

"We just let him walk into an ambush!"

"He has a weapon and he knows how to use it!"

"There was only one shot! This was supposed to be a simple drop. Give Frank the money and he gives up Grace. We were only supposed to listen and record audio to nail Frank; not hear Frank shoot Peter!"

"So much for not alerting him to an FBI presence. We have to go, Peter needs us."

Jones hustled to the back throwing the van door open and jumping down. Shaking her head and grabbing her gun, Diana yelled after him.

"I'll radio for an ambulance and backup. I'll be right behind you!"

As she hit the button to radio for help, she inwardly pleaded _Peter, please be all right!_

Jones ran toward the abandoned building and waited less than a minute for Diana to join him. They both crept forward afraid of what they might find.


	10. Chapter 10

Unintended Consequences

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

Chapter 10

##

_A few minutes earlier..._

_Wednesday 8:56 p.m._

Neal inched closer and was fairly certain the figure was Grace even though the moonlight hid her face. He put his finger up to his lips for her to remain silent.

"My name is Neal Caffrey…I worked with your husband Frank…my girlfriend was Kate Moreau…"

It stung Neal a bit that he had to use the word 'was' in reference to Kate, but he was certain it would help clarify who he was and that he was here to help.

Grace nodded her head to indicate she understood. He and Kate had shared more than a few dinners and wine with Frank and Grace before the museum incident. Focus. Stop daydreaming. Neal shook his head to rid himself of the memories. He tried to concentrate on quickly freeing Grace but realized the ropes were tighter than he had anticipated. He took out the small flashlight he has used earlier to pick the door lock and looked around for something to help cut the ropes. He finally found a rather large knife in one of the drawers. He didn't want to waste more time, so he figured it would have to do. He worked quickly to untie Grace's hands and feet and dropped the ropes by her chair. He walked toward the back of the chair letting the moonlight illuminate the knot holding the gag in place. He had loosened the knot but was still working on it when he heard a soft creak. Startled, he looked up to see moonlight streaming on Peter's face as he stepped into the room, gun drawn. Neal saw a look of intense hatred spread over Peter's face when he saw him. It didn't even cross his mind that he was still holding the knife. Neal's first thought was that Peter must have checked his anklet and somehow found out about the forgery. He doubted he would be able to talk his way out of this one, especially after Peter had confronted him earlier. Peter was never going to believe him now. Neal realized that going back to prison seemed a definite possibility until he heard the gun go off and felt the impact in his chest drive him to the ground, his head striking the hard floor. The knife clattered to the floor a few feet away. Neal's last thought before the pain in his head and chest conspired to pull him under was perhaps he had overestimated the bond he thought he had shared with Peter.

##

Peter rushed to his sister's side ignoring the man who had fallen to the floor; making sure she was okay was his first priority. He quickly reached to remove the gag around her mouth when it fell with just a slight tug. His mind didn't register it as a problem until he realized that her arms and legs were already free; the ropes lying beside her on the floor were obviously cut. Confusion was evident on Peter's face even in the moonlight as he grabbed her hands to help her out of the chair. She wobbled a bit, but then stood a bit straighter as Peter helped to steady her.

"We have to get out of here."

Suddenly, they were surrounded by a bright light. Peter turned and saw Frank holding a gun on them; his finger still on the light switch. Thoughts raced frantically through Peter's mind, if Frank was by the door who was on the floor?

##

Jones and Diana had quickly reached the entrance to the building. Diana carefully turned the knob and motioned for Jones to go in first, gun drawn. They saw a light on about halfway down on the left hand side.

"Jones, that must be the office suite from the blueprint. That has to be where Peter is."

"I agree. We have to be careful. We don't want to blow the op if he's ok."

They kept moving closer until Diana crept up to the window and used a mirror to reflect the occupants of the room without being detected. She signaled for Jones.

He scooted closer and looked at the reflection. He whispered in a low tone.

"Should I assume the guy standing is Frank? I hear Peter's voice but I don't see him. He doesn't sound injured."

"Well if it isn't Frank or Peter do you think it was Grace?"

"I don't know."

They listened for a few more seconds while Frank droned on with glee about why he was doing this.

"Peter's wire was still working when we left the van so we should be getting all of this. This is what we need to nail him. Let's give Peter a few more minutes to see what he can get Frank to say. We're right here in case he needs us."

##

"What's going on Frank? Did you plan this? You kidnapped your own wife?"

"Did you bring the money?"

"All $287,500 of it. It's just outside the door. Nice clue. Exactly the amount of money you spent on the mortgage buying Grace our parent's house. What more do you want?"

Grace had just realized the significance of the ransom and looked furiously at him. He ignored the glare and focused his attention on Peter.

"This worked out better than I expected. What better way could there be to get rid of an FBI agent and his consultant?"

"They will track you down for killing an FBI Agent."

"Kill you? Nah…that would be too easy. No, I'm going to watch you squirm while your FBI career goes down in flames and there's nothing you can do. In fact, you sealed the first part yourself, and I didn't even plan that. Like I said this couldn't have turned out better!"

Frank turned toward Grace but left the gun aimed at Peter just in case he tried something.

"Grace. Take Peter's gun. It's time for a little brother sister reunion."

Peter didn't move.

"Give Grace your gun. Now."

Peter reluctantly handed his gun to Grace, who hesitated a moment before reaching for it.

"That's right baby. Just point it at him and keep it steady."

Frank took out a pair of handcuffs and secured one to Peter's right wrist. He then pulled Peter over and locked the remaining cuff onto the limp left wrist of the injured man still lying on the floor. Frank chuckled.

"Here's the beauty of the plan. The NYPD should have gotten a tip from a very concerned citizen that a very valuable Vermeer painting can be found at your residence. We've even created a bill of sale from a less than reputable dealer detailing your purchase of the Vermeer painting. There are even several witnesses that will step forward if necessary and identify you as the person they saw at the auction. It looks like you and your criminal consultant joined forces. After all, who could possibly stop that kind of combination – world class forger and the smartest FBI agent? You could definitely make a killing…pardon my pun."

Peter had a sudden flashback of himself and Neal breaking into a bank… maybe it would be all too believable.

_Ready to break into a bank? Admit it Peter. We make a pretty decent team._

_Bank robbers?_

_I see you smiling. Come on the infamous Caffrey and Burke…We'd be legends._

_I can see the wanted posters now but it would be Burke and Caffrey._

Peter knew there was no way Frank could know about the bank, but still the seeds of doubt had been planted and both the FBI and NYPD were going to have questions. At least Peter knew now that Frank had been the person behind the painting delivery and he still thought it was there.

Peter thought about giving him the unfortunate news that the police hadn't found the painting at his house, but with two guns pointed at him Peter decided it was probably not in his best interest to let Frank know part of his plan had failed.

"Really, I have to say 'thank you' Peter. I thought my plan was perfect, but you made it far superior."

Frank lightly tapped Peter's temple with his gun.

"Lots of gray matter still up there. Grace always did say you were very smart. You tied up another loose end for me by shooting him."

Frank motioned to the still body lying on the floor handcuffed to Peter.

"If he dies, you'll go down for murder as well as art theft. I'm just not seeing a way out of this for you my dear brother-in-law."

Peter looked up and glared at Frank.

"You would let one of your cronies die just to take me down? Did he betray you?"

"See…now here's a sensitive issue. We did some work together in the past; just didn't work out so well. As a direct answer to your question, yes, he betrayed me. He betrayed everyone in my profession. In fact, he went to work for the FBI."

Peter kept a stony expression on his face, while Frank laughed at Peter's refusal to comment.

"I know who would have thought it could get better? Here's another laugh for you. He might have betrayed me, but in the end he betrayed you; it's who he is."

Shock registered on Peter's face; he just couldn't keep the stony glare in place. Frank couldn't possibly mean…no, it couldn't be. Peter's mind simply couldn't deal with the thought. What other con man could Frank be referring to? He had been so busy worrying about Grace and Elle that it had never occurred to him to check Neal's anklet again after he had left his apartment. The warehouse was well within Neal's radius so an alert would never have been triggered. How was Neal involved in this?

##

Neal slowly woke up hearing voices around him. He couldn't quite focus on them as his chest was killing him and his head was throbbing. He tried to remember what happened. Slowly the memory of Peter's face floated to the surface. Peter was holding a gun and it was aimed straight at him. Neal remembered holding a knife trying to free Grace when he had felt the sharp stabbing pain in his chest. He had never been so grateful to have actually followed June's advice when she gave him the package from Mozzie and told him what the little guy had said. He wasn't sure how, but somehow Mozzie knew something bad was going to happen and had tried to warn him without alerting Frank. Neal knew without a shadow of a doubt that the vest under his clothing had saved his life and he had Mozzie to thank (again). He realized someone's voice was talking nearby. He could hear it clearly now, 'Yes, he betrayed me. He betrayed everyone in my profession. In fact, he went to work for the FBI.' The voice faded out as Neal tried to concentrate on the voice, who was speaking and what they were talking about? Were they talking about Peter working for the FBI? He couldn't be sure. Neal became aware of something on his wrist; something very familiar…the cold metal of a handcuff encircled his wrist. Had Peter arrested him? His brain was still too fuzzy to remember. Peter must have found evidence of the forgery and somehow figured out what was going down or he never would have found the place. Neal thought it was strange that he didn't feel a handcuff on his other wrist, but he was too tired to open his eyes and figure out what was going on…it took much less energy to just lay there and listen.

##

"What makes you think anyone would believe I did this, Frank?"

"You just shot a man in cold blood and I watched you do it, Peter. You don't mind if I call you Peter, do you? It won't be Agent Burke for much longer anyway. It's a classic misdirect. Shift suspicion to you, your lovely wife and your criminal consultant and manpower will be expended. Who knows maybe they can even get a conviction; now that would be icing on the cake. Either way they'll be following a red herring; a priceless painting created by a master…just not the 17th century master they are expecting. The most important thing for you to know is the forger is none other than your very own criminal consultant."

Peter groaned. How could Neal have possibly betrayed him like this? After all they'd been through he actually forged another painting and did it right behind Peter's back. Neal had looked so innocent this afternoon at his apartment. Had he been scheming to destroy Peter with this painting? Peter refused to believe it, there had to be another explanation. Why would Neal work with Frank?

Frank's voice permeated his consciousness once again.

"I, in the meantime, escape with the real painting that no one is even looking for anymore because they found it at your house and they are too busy interrogating said FBI Agent, his lovely wife and his criminal consultant. Oh, and by the way…You know just for grins and giggles. I simply can't resist any longer."

Frank bent down to remove the ski mask from the face of the man Peter shot and heard the gasp as he looked up to see Peter turning as white as a sheet. Frank once again stopped to laugh about the sheer brilliance of his perfect plan; he was finally taking both Burke and Caffrey down and getting rid of Burke's miserable sister; he couldn't be happier.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Unintended Consequences**_

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Honestly there is Neal/Peter banter coming, obviously they have a bunch of things to work out, but I just haven't gotten to that point yet.

_Chapter 11_

_Frank stooped down to remove the ski mask from the face of the man Peter shot and heard the gasp and looked up to see Peter turning as white as a sheet._

##

Peter quickly came to the horrific conclusion that not only had Neal betrayed him, but it was very obvious that Peter had just betrayed Neal.

"I shot him. I shot Neal. How could I?"

Peter didn't realize he had said this out loud until Frank started laughing. It sounded more like an evil cackle to Peter who was beginning to realize what Frank had meant earlier about destroying his career.

"Let him go, Neal needs a hospital."

"Would this be Neal the consultant, Neal the friend, Neal the partner or Neal the traitor who turned Fed and then betrayed you? He'll never be one of you, you know. After this he'll never _want_ to be one of you - not after you shot your own partner/consultant/friend/traitor - however you choose to refer to him. It doesn't really matter I guess; he'll never trust you again. As for you, now that you know he forged a painting, just last night actually, how can _you_ ever trust _him_? You just never know what he might forge next. Of course, if he dies he won't be able to. Hmm. Which would you prefer? That might be a tough one. Don't worry though, you'll have plenty of time to think about it. So would this be justice or revenge? Are you sure they're mutually exclusive? It could be justice for him betraying you. I mean, he obviously had it coming since he forged the painting, but perhaps you wanted revenge for all the little stupid stunts he's pulled that gets you in trouble with your boss?"

Frank had a smile on his lips as he made the last comment, reveling in the thought that finally he had taken down his smug brother-in-law and all of talk of justice instead of revenge. Trust the system seemed to be Peter's motto, but now the system would fail him and finally Frank would have his version of justice which he was sure his brother-in-law would classify as revenge. Frank was sure there would be plenty of time for Peter to re-evaluate his position on the subject once he was jobless and humiliated.

Peter glared at Frank with a look of absolute hatred, but it didn't seem to faze Frank.

"Come on, Peter. You weren't so naïve as to think that Neal was really reformed, were you? He is the best you know, hands down…no competition. You should have seen the adrenaline rush he had. I could tell he was thrilled to be back in the game."

"You're sick Frank; really sick. You need help."

Frank just laughed.

"I'm sick? You're the one who hired the criminal. Now look what he's gone and done. Why do you have sympathy for him and not me? How are we so different?"

"You're completely different. Caffrey wants to change. You don't."

"Me? Go soft? Work for the Feds? Ha. NEVER! Do you know why I hate your guts Peter?"

"I can't imagine since most people think I'm a likeable guy."

"It's because of your devotion to the principles of justice even when you're life is in danger. Always a holier-than-thou by-the-book FBI Agent. Your sister thought she wanted more, but the bond was apparently too strong. I couldn't change her. I know she loved me, she really did. I had good intentions when we got married. I bought her everything a woman could possibly want, but then she discovered you joined the FBI, such a noble profession. Every time your name made it in the paper she cut out the article. She didn't think I knew. Did you _honey_? Once a hero, always a hero, right? She just never had to the guts to call you and tell you she'd been wrong about you. She betrayed me, even after all the jobs we pulled together, she still looked up to you. You, not me. I'm her husband. I'm the one she should look up to."

"Is that what this is all about? You're ditching her as a wife and want me to pay you off because she followed my career? That's ridiculous; you really are sick. As for your intentions, Karl Marx said 'the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.' You have to do better than that in a marriage to make it work, Frank. It takes a lot of work, not just good intentions. Do you think Elle and I always agree on everything? It takes work, _hard_ work to resolve the issues between you. If you love one another you _want_ to make the other person happy. You want to do what is best for them and in return you will benefit as a result. Violence is not the answer."

Frank's face had turned beet red in anger. How dare Peter lecture him! He turned his gun away from Peter and trained it on Grace.

"I changed my mind. I want you to shoot your brother or he watches you die."

Frank looked over at Peter without moving the gun from Grace.

"What becomes of all your justice and revenge talk now Peter? Who's gonna save you now? I can assure you this is both justice and revenge. I think I like this better. You'll be dead and your image will suffer as they'll probably never find the answers to all of their questions."

Frank turned his attention back to Grace.

"I'm waiting Grace. You or him. You've made this choice before haven't you? Last time you chose me. Who will you choose this time?"

Grace had the gun pointed at Peter with tears streaming down her cheeks. She knew there was no way Peter could save her this time. She had treated him terribly. He must really hate her and now Frank was forcing her to choose who she loved more. She couldn't even bear to look her brother in the eye.

"Grace."

Peter's voice shook her out of her reverie.

"Grace. Look at me. I forgive you and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. You were right. It's my fault. This is all my fault."

"Touching, really. Make up your mind Grace. It's him or me."

Grace looked over at her husband, seeing him in a completely new light. She had never seen the look of hatred on his face before. She was certain it had been there, but since it had never been directed at her before she hadn't paid any attention.

Grace was trying to concentrate on Peter's face through her tears. She didn't see the hatred that she expected there, only brotherly love. She had a gun pointed at him and _still_ he looked like he had already forgiven her for what she was about to do. How could he possibly still care after all these years? How could Frank force her to do this? How could she possibly have loved this monster who was forcing her to take a life while threatening her own? Love was truly blind. She had known for quite a while that Frank was not in love with her anymore, but she had refused to accept it pretending that everything was fine. She had accepted early on that Frank had never wanted children and was just content to be at his side. There was always an adventure or quick getaway; not the lifestyle for a family. She had always thought Frank would be enough. She realized now that her heart's deepest desire was to be loved unconditionally, something Frank would never be able to do. Seeing the look on Peter's face, she knew that above all else he wanted what was best for her. He did love her unconditionally. Why couldn't more men be like him? Why couldn't she have realized this years ago? She had rejected him far too long; maybe she could make up for it just a little. He had always tried to protect her; maybe it was time for a little sister to return the favor.

She heard her husband's voice, gravelly and threatening; not the tone that he used to whisper sweet nothings in her ear with. How had she been so blind?

"Shoot now, Grace or he watches you die."

"I'm older and wiser this time Frank. It's always a battle between good and evil, isn't it? This time you're not winning!"

Tears blurred Grace's vision as her finger tightened on the trigger. Somewhere, far away it seemed, she heard someone yelling.

"Freeze, FBI!"

Her finger already in motion, she turned and squeezed the trigger of her brother's gun sending a bullet out of its chamber and point blank into her husband's chest. Frank's eyes opened in surprise. He didn't say a word, but his finger squeezed the trigger on his gun as he fell, the bullet's trajectory closing in on Grace's original target.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Unintended Consequences**_

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: thanks for the reviews, they are much appreciated! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

_Frank's finger squeezed the trigger on his gun as he fell, the bullet's trajectory closing in on Grace's original target._

_##_

Chapter 12

Peter closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable. He didn't regret anything because he truly believed what he said. He had already forgiven Grace. Frank just didn't understand the concept of marriage and had no idea how to make it work, Peter was sorry that Grace had to learn the hard way. He couldn't blame Grace for being scared; Frank had a gun to her head and she was literally shaking. He heard the gun's report, found himself pushed backward and felt a heavy weight crushing his chest. He wasn't wearing the outer bullet proof vest emblazoned with the big gold FBI letters; he had instead chosen a slimmer version under his clothes. He had reasoned that if he went in gun drawn and obviously wearing a bullet proof vest, Frank wouldn't hesitate to shoot him somewhere he wasn't protected, like his head. If there was even the slightest doubt Peter wasn't wearing one, Frank might shoot straight for the heart where the bullet proof vest would prove useful. Peter heard shouting in the background and thought he recognized both Jones and Diana's voices; hopefully they got Frank on tape confessing. It would be worth it to take him down. Peter slowly cracked his eyes open to see a mass of black hair lying on his left shoulder. He realized it was connected to a body that was lying face down on top of him; his heart skipped a beat. What had happened? He tried rolling the body off his chest so he could see if they were alive, but it was like rolling a boulder from the entrance of a cave; nearly impossible, especially with one hand restrained. Suddenly he heard voices much closer.

"Sir. Can you tell us where you're hurt?"

His vision was a little blurry, but he assumed they were paramedics Jones or Diana had called in. He felt someone feeling his pulse, which he was sure was racing. Peter wasn't sure who they were speaking to but managed a weak groan.

"Can you get him off me? My chest feels like it's being crushed!"

He felt the EMT's trying to move the body and Peter felt a tug on his right wrist. They stopped suddenly.

"Get one of those agents back in here. We need to remove these handcuffs."

Peter heard the shuffling of feet and then Jones' voice broke through the fog smothering his brain.

"Boss? Here, let me help you. Why on earth are you handcuffed to Neal?"

Peter was too stunned to speak. Neal? He had shot Neal. He was lying dead on the floor. What was Neal doing on top of him? He came to the disturbing realization that Neal must have woken up, figured out what was going on and put himself between Peter and Grace assuming Grace would choose to shoot Peter over Frank.

Jones removed the handcuffs so the medics were able to lift Neal onto the gurney and then he helped Peter stand up. Peter wobbled a bit trying to get his balance back.

"Boss? You ok? We have Frank's confession on tape regarding the painting and also the intention to kill you, but he won't be bothering you anymore. He's dead."

"Frank's dead? Who shot Frank?"

Peter pulled away and sat down in the nearest chair. His head felt like it was going to explode. He remembered Grace holding a gun on him and Frank holding a gun on Grace. How on earth had Frank gotten shot?

"Who shot Frank?"

Jones wasn't sure how to respond to Peter's question, but realized Peter wasn't going to let this go.

"Grace shot him, Peter. She shot him in the chest. Before he fell, Frank fired at you. Neal must have sensed something and used himself as a shield. Diana and I got here just before Grace pulled the trigger. He had a gun on her. It was self defense, Peter. I'll testify to that."

Peter felt a huge sigh of relief that Grace was ok. He was also relieved he hadn't killed Neal if Neal was alert enough to try and save his life. Peter attempted to figure out why Neal would risk his life for him, but he was still reeling from the emotional trauma from the past 12 hours and his brain was not cooperating. His mind was so consumed with guilt, he barely registered the medics putting Neal on a gurney and rolling him away. He felt he had failed Neal, Grace and Elle. He was the one with the badge and he had failed everyone he cared about.

"Boss."

Peter didn't indicate he heard anything.

"Peter!"

Peter finally looked up with an exhausted look on his face noticing Jones had knelt beside him.

"Let me take you home."

"Can't go home. I still have to find Elle."

One of the medics returned to check on Peter.

"Sir, we're going to need to check you out too."

"I'm fine."

"Sir, you did hit the floor and you were complaining your chest hurt earlier. I'd really like to check you out."

Peter ignored the paramedic.

"Jones, we're missing something here. There had to be a reason Elle left with the painting even though she didn't know what it was. I'm going to need your help."

The paramedic pulled a penlight out and shined it in Peter's eyes one at a time.

"Stop that."

Peter glared at the paramedic, not caring at the moment that he was only trying to do his job.

"Sir, can you tell me what year it is?"

"It's 2010, my name is Peter Burke and we're in New York City. Satisfied now?"

Jones felt bad for the paramedic. He was only trying to help and he didn't deserve first degree treatment from Peter.

"He's had a rough day. His sister and wife were kidnapped, so he's a little off kilter."

"That's understandable, sir. Your pupils do appear to be dilating normally; so that's a good sign."

"I'm fine, really. It's just hard to breathe when someone is on your chest. Now I really need to go. My wife is still missing."

##

Peter's cell phone vibrated insistently on one of the counters in the empty surveillance van vibrating itself closer to the back edge with each call that came in. Several missed calls later there was still no one there to see it vibrate right off the edge and fall behind the work area.

##

Elle tried Peter's cell phone again, but it just kept ringing. She had already left him three messages but he hadn't returned any of her phone calls. She decided not to leave another message and just hung up. Where could he be? She really wished she knew what was going on this morning with Peter's strange phone call. She had never had an opportunity to ask him about it and now Mozzie was telling her he was in danger. She had this growing feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was very wrong.

##

The doctor finished wrapping up Neal's ribs. He hadn't broken any, but there were a couple dislocated.

"You're a very fortunate young man, Neal. This could have been much worse."

"Am I free to go?"

Neal had no intention of sticking around any longer than necessary. He felt an urgency to get out of there. He knew he was supposed to find someone, but he wasn't sure exactly who. His head was hurting but he didn't want to give the doctor any excuse to keep him here. He really hated hospitals.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

"I'm fine, doc. Nothing that won't heal."

"If you're sure, I would recommend going straight home and take it easy. No sudden movements. You need some rest and plenty of liquids. You have a large bruise on the back of your head. I would recommend putting ice on it for 20-30 minutes every 2 hours. Even something as simple as frozen vegetables will work. Here's a prescription for some pain meds. You'll want to get this filled tomorrow. In the meantime here's some free samples to last you through the night."

"Thanks, doctor. Oh, could you write that stuff about the ice down? I won't remember it when I get home."

"Sure."

The doctor pulled a tablet out of his coat pocket, scrawled a few things down and handed the paper to Neal.

Neal tried gently pulling on his shirt which would have been even more painful had the doctor not assisted him. He carefully scooted off the examining table and stood slowly. A slight wave of nausea overcame him but he held in to the edge of the table and it passed quickly. He reached for his black jacket but didn't bother zipping it; afraid it would be too tight and aggravate his ribs. The doctor gave him a concerned glance.

"Are you going to be ok getting home?"

"I'm fine, really. I'll just call a cab."

"Ok. Check out at the reception desk and schedule a follow up appointment. I want to make sure your ribs are healing correctly."

Neal walked up to the desk.

"The doctor said I need to make a follow up appointment"

"Certainly sir. What's your name?"

"Neal Caffrey."

"Would next week Monday work for you?"

"Uh, yeah."

Neal accepted the appointment card the lady handed him.

He moved away from the desk and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to call a cab. He wished the medicine would start working, his head was really starting to pound. He noticed he had several missed calls all from Mozzie.

##

Mozzie startled awake jumping up off the chair he'd been sitting in when his phone started ringing. Elle couldn't help but laugh at the panic stricken look on his face. She noticed he had fallen asleep, but didn't want to wake him. It had been a stressful day for everyone and it was the least she could do for him for rescuing her from Frank.

"Hello?"

"Hello. You called?"

"I've been worried sick about you. I just knew this whole operation was bad to begin with. Are you ok?"

"Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know. I'm kinda fuzzy on that part yet. I'm looking for someone."

"What is this missing persons week? Who's missing now?"

Neal hesitated. Who _was_ he supposed to be looking for? His mind drifted, he was sitting on a couch with a beautiful woman. '_I can't believe you have such an amazing wife, Peter'…'I'm putting you back in prison.' _That must be it, Neal thought it must be Elle. She's Peter's wife.

"Elle. She's missing. Peter...Peter showed up at the drop and he..."

Neal stopped as the memory of what had actually happened sunk in. Peter had actually shot him. Mozzie interrupted his thoughts.

"Neal? Neal? Are you still there?"

Neal still grappling with the memory of the look in Peter's eyes just before he pulled the trigger. Neal leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes at the memory.

"What?"

"What do you mean Elle's missing? She's right here. Were you able to find Grace?"

"Grace? Was I looking for Grace? I...I was wasn't I?"

"Neal, you don't sound so good. Where are you?"

"I'm at a hospital, but they said I could go home. I don't want to stay here. I need to get a cab."

"Neal, hold on ok? Don't hang up the phone. Give me just a second."

"What?"

There was a pause at the other end if the line and then he heard a woman's voice.

"Neal? Are you ok? Mozzie says you don't sound like yourself. What are you doing at the hospital?"

"I need to go home. The doctor said I should go straight home. I need a cab. Maybe I could walk."

"No! Neal, don't start walking, please. Can you tell me the name of the hospital?"

Neal opened his eyes and remembered the appointment card. He carefully pulled it out of his pocket grimacing only slightly. Bellevue Hospital.

"It's Bellevue Hospital."

"Ok. I need to talk to Mozzie for just a minute. Ok? Don't hang up."

Elle put her hand over her cell phone.

"Mozzie? Do you think it's safe to go back to my place? Neal really sounds like he needs help."

"I think it should be, since the cops have already searched it and the drop time has passed, I think it's unlikely Frank will be back."

"I think I'll take that chance then. I'm going to call June and see if she can pick up Neal and take him to our place. We can meet him there. We should take the painting, maybe Peter can help us figure out what to do. You're right. If the cops have already been there they won't be back."

Elle uncovered the phone.

"Neal? Are you still there?

"I'm here."

Can you do me a big favor?"

"Maybe."

"I'm going to call June and see if she can pick you up at the hospital. You won't need to take a cab. Will you promise to stay until she gets there?"

"The doctor said I need to go straight home."

"Neal, June will bring you directly to my place ok? I'm sure that will be ok with the doctor.

"Ok."

"I'll see you soon Neal."

"Ok."

Neal realized he was very tired. He found an empty chair against a wall and carefully lowered himself into it. He leaned his head back against the wall and promptly fell asleep.

"Neal?"

Neal was dreaming he was back in the warehouse. He saw a figure sitting in a chair and he silently approached not wanting to scare them. The room seemed familiar to him; it felt like he'd been there before, but when he approached the figure he stopped dead. It was a much older lady than he had expected, but she seemed very familiar. He knew her.

"Neal?"

There it was again, a voice calling to him through the darkness. He tried to crack an eye open, but it was really bright.

"Neal, dear. It's June. I've come to pick you up. Mozzie and Elle are very worried about you. I am too, you don't look so good. Do you think you can stand up for me?"

June. Yes, that's who the older lady was. He lived in her lovely home. Neal breathed a sign of relief. He attempted to open his eyes again and could see her looking down at him; concern evident in her face.

"The doctor said I need to go straight home."

"I know dear, but Elle requested I take you to their home. Is that ok?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Let's get you out of here."


	13. Chapter 13

**Unintended Consequences**

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Here's a nice big (i.e. long) Christmas gift for you! You can return the favor by reviewing and telling me what you think!

_"Neal, dear. It's June. I've come to pick you up. Mozzie and Elle are very worried about you. I am too, you don't look so good. Do you think you can stand up for me?"… "Yeah, I guess."_

_"Let's get you out of here."_

_Chapter 13_

Neal was lying on his side on the Burke's couch fast asleep. There was a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel and tucked between the couch cushion and the back of his head. Elle was timing it so that it wasn't on too long. After June had dropped him off, Elle had helped him get his jacket off because he wasn't able to manage it himself. She had looked through Neal's jacket pockets and found the instructions from the doctor along with the prescription. Maybe she could help him with that in the morning; right now she was just content he was still sleeping soundly on the couch. She turned to look at Mozzie.

"What do you think happened? Neal doesn't seem to remember much other than needing to find someone."

"Honestly? I think something went wrong at the drop while he was trying to find Grace. I knew something like this would happen. I wanted to warn him, but I didn't want Frank to get suspicious so I left one of those sleek style bullet proof vests for him with June. You know the kind you can wear under your clothing to be more discreet. I told her to tell him that Frank was up to something and to watch his back."

"You think someone shot him?"

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that his chest was wrapped in gauze along with the decent sized bump on the back of his head that they had already discovered. Being an FBI wife, Elle was well aware that as good as bullet proof vests were, there was always bruising and discomfort left behind from a bullet's impact.

"I do. I think the vest saved his life, but he must have hit his head in the process. He's safer here with you. I don't trust those doctors; they are only in it for themselves. They don't care about Neal."

"Mozzie, that's not true. There are a lot of good doctors out there."

"There are a lot of bad ones too."

Elle ignored Mozzie's last comment; not wanting to get into a fight with the paranoid little guy. It wouldn't do for him to be upset when she woke Neal up.

"He wasn't a bad doctor."

Elle turned around recognizing the voice.

"Neal! You're awake!"

"Is that a problem?"

Neal flashed a smile at Elle; she noticed it wasn't at full capacity, but it was far better than when he arrived.

"No, I'm glad. We were just concerned why the doctor had let you go so soon."

"I didn't want to stay. I wanted to get out of there; I needed to get out of there. I'm fine really. I was just tired."

"I think it was a bit more than tired, Neal. Do you remember anything about what happened?"

Neal really didn't want to talk about the evening's events; just thinking about it made his head hurt more.

"Elle, I _really_ don't want to talk about it right now, ok? I just want to relax. It's been a stressful day, night or whatever time it is."

"Sure. Ok. Is there anything I can get you? Would you like some more water or maybe another blanket?"

"A glass of water would be nice. Thanks."

Elle turned around and walked to the kitchen. Neal noticed for the first time that Moz was standing by the entertainment center, just quietly watching him.

"What are you doing here, Moz?"

"I'm watching out for Elle. I figured you and Peter could take care of yourselves. Frank was going to go after her. I didn't want to tell you because you were too busy trying to please Frank with your painting. Do you even know what happened to the painting, Neal?"

"At this moment Moz, I really don't care. I don't want to talk about it, ok? I seriously just want to relax. Why am I here instead of at June's? Peter didn't bring me here, did he?"

Elle returned from the kitchen holding the glass of water for Neal.

"You've seen Peter? Is he ok? He isn't answering my phone calls and I'm really worried."

"Yeah, uh, I saw him, but I don't know where he is now. I'm not sure what happened, he wasn't at the hospital with me, so something must have happened. You know, you could always call Hughes, maybe he's heard from Peter."

Neal was hoping to distract Elle or Moz away from grilling him further. He knew it was a true enough statement; something _had_ happened, but he didn't want to get into it. He didn't want to further alarm Elle and he really didn't know where Peter was at the present time.

Elle was looking at him like he was a genius and it was making him feel very uncomfortable. She bent over to give him a hug and then remembered he probably wouldn't appreciate it at the moment, so she lightly tapped him on his hand and looked into his eyes.

"Thank you, Neal for saying that. I don't know why I didn't think of that. Too much stress I guess."

Mozzie had already anticipated what Elle would be looking for while she was conversing with Neal and wordlessly handed her the cordless phone once she had straightened up to go look for it.

"Thanks, Moz."

She dialed the all too familiar FBI number and asked for Reese Hughes. Neal had seen the look in Elle's eyes. He saw the concern and worry resting there along with her many other questions. He had been as honest as possible without telling her the grim news that it was Peter who had shot him; intentional or not, he wasn't even sure himself. He was also trying to figure out why he had thrown himself at Peter to protect the man that had just tried to kill him. Why would he do something like that? In all his years as a con artist it had never once occurred to him to protect one of his partners in crime. He _always_ followed the motto 'every man for himself.' Why was Peter so different and why on earth would he still try to protect Peter even after Peter had taken a shot at him? He obviously had not thought it through and acted on instinct, but where had it come from? He was too tired to figure it out and his head was really starting to hurt again. He realized that the peas were gone, and he desperately wanted something cool on the back of his head. He closed his eyes.

"Ppwweeaass. Could I have some pppwweeaasss."

Mozzie took a few steps closer to make sure he heard correctly.

"Did you say, "Please or Peas?"

"Ppwweeaass. My head huuurts."

'Great' thought Mozzie, 'so much for clarification.'

He noticed that Elle had hung up the phone and walked over to her.

"I think Neal needs some more frozen vegetables for the swelling. I can't tell if he was trying to say 'Please or Peas'."

Elle looked over at Neal with that motherly look of hers; noticing that his eyes were closed, but his face had a pained look on it.

"I'll get the peas."

##

Peter stormed into the FBI headquarters opening the glass doors with a force not seen before. Hughes saw him coming and walked out of his office to meet him.

"Peter. We need to talk."

Peter assumed that someone had filled Hughes in on what happened and he really didn't want to discuss it right now. He did feel lucky Hughes hadn't asked for his badge immediately.

"Sir, I know there will be an inquiry into what happened, but first I just need to find Elle. I just need a little more time."

"I think you'll want to hear this. It's good news for you."

"If it's not about Elle, I don't have the time."

"It is actually, I just spoke with her and she's fine. She's safe and she says she's back home. She left with Mozzie. I don't have all the details, but I'm sure she can fill you in."

Peter wasn't sure how much more of this emotional roller coaster he could take. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief washing over him. Elle was fine. Frank and his minions hadn't gotten to her. She was safe. He also felt very foolish since it hadn't even occurred to him that Mozzie might have rescued Elle. He really owed the little guy big time for that and he owed Neal a big apology for doubting him. He wasn't even sure if Neal could forgive him after what had happened tonight. He didn't even know if he could forgive himself. Right now, he didn't even want to think about it right now. Since Elle was safe for the moment, he had to concentrate on getting more details from Grace. Being just Peter was going to have to wait a bit longer; with Elle safe he could concentrate on being Agent Burke again. He needed to know if Grace knew anything about the real painting, where it might be and if someone else might come looking for it.

##

"Jones, I need to see Grace."

"Ok. Ah, you know Peter, you haven't even inquired about Neal. Don't you want to see how Neal is doing?"

Peter sidestepped Jones' question. He simply couldn't handle talking about Neal right now because then he would have to deal with what happened.

"I'm sure he's fine. He'll be in good hands at the hospital. Have you seen my cell phone? I thought it was clipped to my belt but now I can't find it."

"No, I haven't seen it. I could ask Diana though."

"Please do. Thanks Jones."

##

Peter sat in his office chair behind his desk and Grace was sitting in the guest chair that Neal usually occupied. He had removed her handcuffs as he didn't consider her to be a flight risk; with Frank dead, she wouldn't have anywhere to go.

"What happened, Grace? Why did you shoot Frank?"

"He gave me a choice Peter. It was him or you. You know that."

For a moment, Peter's vision of Grace morphed into Neal sitting as usual in his chair just across from him with his feet propped up on Peter's desk.

_What happened, Peter? Why did you shoot me?_

Neal disappeared and Grace reappeared sitting in Neal's chair.

"After everything I've put you through over the last 20 plus years, Peter, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't pull the trigger. The look on your face was like you had already forgiven me and I didn't deserve it. It made me feel loved, but then I felt ashamed, because you showed me more love than I've ever had from Frank. I just didn't know it until now. I couldn't betray that."

Peter once again envisioned Neal sitting in his chair with his fedora pulled low and an angry expression on his face.

_How could you betray me like that?_

"I…I…"

"No, Peter."

Grace interrupted him before he realized he had said anything out loud.

"You risked your life to come for me and _I_ made the choice that Frank wasn't going to win again. After all you did to protect me, Peter…"

Peter's vision blurred and he saw Neal looked at him accusingly.

_Why didn't you protect me, Peter? You know I would protect you! I thought you had my back!_

"Peter? Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes! I'm mean…I'm sorry. I, uh, my head just still hurts, I think I hit it harder than I thought."

"I was saying that I felt I needed to do something to protect you, regardless of the consequences. I love you. You're my only brother. I don't want to lose you again."

"I don't want to lose you either, Grace."

Peter let out a long sigh. What was he supposed to do? There was still the possibility that Grace would go to prison, but maybe he could at least offer her some hope.

"One of my agents, Jones, says he would be more than happy to testify that shooting Frank was self-defense. He would testify that Frank held a gun on you and forced you to shoot. I'm sure that Diana would testify to what she saw as well. You were protecting yourself and me, Grace. I can't believe a jury won't see it that way. You did the right thing. We just need to let the system work."

Grace gave a wry laugh, and put her head in her hands.

"Doesn't really feel like justice though, does it? Will _you_ be ok?"

Peter wasn't sure he would be, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

"I'm sure it will be fine, I'll be fine. We'll get through this. Together."

Peter reached out to take her hand and noticed that her hands were trembling. She was probably scared out of her mind.

"Peter, I've been asking myself over and over, did I do it for revenge? I didn't hate Frank, I just didn't want to believe he was lying. It just never sunk in what he was doing and the effect that it had on other people. It never sunk in until Frank made it personal. I am so sorry for everything. You have no idea how much I regret the last 20 years."

"We have to keep fighting for what is right and just, even if evil is present and may seem like its winning. Justice and mercy will always win in the end; even if it takes 20 or more years."

"Thank you for coming for me, I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come."

"I admit I had classified Frank as a despicable type of vermin, but as Wendell Berry says 'Rats and roaches live by competition under the laws of supply and demand; it is the privilege of human beings to live under the laws of justice and mercy.' People like Frank think they don't live by the same rules we do, which is what makes my job so important."

Grace started laughing really hard.

"You thought of Frank as a rat or a rodent? I'm not sure why I think that's funny, but it is."  
Grace could hardly get the words out she was laughing so hard. The fears and tensions were released as Grace laughed so hard there were huge tears rolling down her cheeks. Peter stood up and walked around his desk and stopped in front Grace. He offered her his hand and helped her stand despite the fact that her entire body was convulsing with laughter. He enveloped her small frame in a big bear hug. He started laughing too and they both had tears streaming down their cheeks. They stood there for several minutes, Peter not caring that anyone could see in if they chose to do so, after all they had 20 years to make up for. Fortunately, due to the late hour, there really weren't many agents left to observe anyway. Peter reluctantly pulled away.

"There's one more think I have to ask you, Grace. Do you have any idea where Frank might have hidden this painting? I know the one that was at my house is a forgery, but I know the real one exists. I need to know where it is. Do you have any idea?"

Grace was still busy trying to wipe away her tears and compose herself, so it took a minute for her to respond.

"I'm not really sure, we do have several storage units, but I've only been in them once or twice and not for several years."

"It's really important Grace. We need to know if someone knows that Frank had it, because if so, they might be coming after you."

##

Peter had left Grace in custody with Jones asking him to get a listing of the addresses of the storage units that Frank and Grace had, and they could check them out later. He was hoping to be able to talk to the district attorney and show that Grace was cooperating and that it had been self defense. That discussion would have to wait for morning though. He hoped to put off his discussion with Neal off a bit longer by going home and talking to his wife. Elle always had a way of making him feel better. After a few hours sleep, he would be able to think more clearly about what happened and then he would visit Neal in the hospital. A few Tylenol wouldn't hurt anything either as he still had a big headache from earlier. He parked the Taurus outside their townhome and opened the door.

"Elle? I'm home!"

Peter stepped into the entry way and took off his coat. He had barely gotten it off when his wife appeared out of nowhere and gave him a huge hug.

"I was so worried about you! Mozzie said you and Neal were in danger and then this whole thing with the painting happened. I'm so glad you're ok."

Elle gave him a quick peck on the cheek, but then pulled back a little and thumped him on the chest.

"Why weren't you answering your cell phone? I thought something had happened to you!"

"You said you would be home and you weren't and you weren't answering your cell phone either!"

Both Peter and Elle stopped and looked at each other before they both broke out in smiles and Peter bent down kissed Elle on the lips.

"I'm sorry I worried you. _I_ was worried something had happened to _you_."

"Ahem."

Peter looked up and saw Mozzie sitting at the dining room table.

"Good to see you're okay, Suit. I was worried about you & Neal. Frank is bad news. Mrs. Suit was caught in the crossfire."  
"I really appreciate it, Mozzie. I heard that you were her Knight in Shining Armor today. May I ask what you are still doing here if she is safely home?"

Peter's gaze fell on a painting propped next to the entertainment center and he slowly walked toward it.

"Never mind. I take it this is the painting in question?"

"This is the painting that was delivered to your wife."

Peter didn't miss the distinct vagueness of Mozzie's answer.

"But it's not the original, correct? Frank said he had the original and was going to leave the country. Unfortunately for him, that will be a little difficult, seeing as he's dead."  
"Frank's dead?"

Mozzie could not have looked more pleased.

"Thanks, Suit. I knew I could count on you to protect Neal!"

Peter looked very uncomfortable. Elle noticed and reached for his arm.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. I'm just happy we caught the bad guy and Grace is safe. We'll have to figure out what to do with the painting now. It could still cause problems if someone knows about it."

"Peter. There's one more thing you should probably know."

"What's that?"

"Neal's sleeping upstairs. He seems to be ok, but he was really confused earlier. I've checked on him several times and he seems to be feeling better, but he won't talk about what happened. He said he had seen you, but wouldn't elaborate. What was going on Peter? Do you think he would talk to you?"

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. He couldn't tell her just yet and he certainly couldn't admit to what happened with Mozzie standing in the room thinking he was a hero. He was already feeling guilty enough as it is. Fortunately, he hadn't seen any more apparitions of Neal haunting him since his conversation with Grace. He had been hoping for a few hours of quiet time, but it was clearly apparent he was not going to get it.

"I doubt he would open up to me, Elle. Not after what happened."

Peter turned to face Mozzie who was looking curiously at him.

"In all fairness, Mozzie, I didn't shoot Frank. I wanted to, but I didn't have a chance."

"Well, if Frank is dead someone shot him. He wouldn't go down without a fight. I also won't believe you if you said Neal did it. You know how much he hates guns."

"Neal didn't shoot Frank either."

"What is this? 'Always make the audience suffer as much as possible?' I'm waiting!"

"Quoting Hitchcock is not funny, Mozzie. This is serious."

"The suspense is killing me!"

"You really have a flair for the dramatic don't you? How many times have you watched _North by Northwest_ or _Rear Window_?"

"The issue, Suit, is not whether I am paranoid. That's a given. The issue is whether I am paranoid enough.

"All right, I get it. You survive by being paranoid."

"_I_ survive? _I_ was the one that gave Neal the bulletproof vest! _My_ paranoia saved _his_ life!"  
"Neal was wearing a bulletproof vest?"

Peter looked extremely relieved at that information.

"What on earth happened, honey? You're skirting the subject. This isn't like you."

"It was Grace. Grace shot Frank, but only because he had a gun on her and was ordering her to shoot someone else."

"If Grace shot Frank, Suit, then who was he wanting her to shoot? Who shot Neal? He was obviously injured, but he won't discuss it, even with me!"

Elle could see Peter was agitated, and put a hand on his arm to calm him down.

"Honey, Mozzie told me Neal was rescuing a friend of his who was kidnapped; something obviously went wrong. Neal called us from the hospital, and June picked him up and brought him here. What's going on? You've been acting weird all day Peter; starting with your phone call this morning about the color Indigo."

"Yes, Peter. Please tell me. What's going on?"

Peter turned around to hear the voice behind him. He saw Neal coming down the staircase, slowly but deliberately. Peter wasn't sure if this was another apparition or the real thing. His mind could very well be playing tricks on him again. He saw Neal sit down on the couch next to Elle who moved over to make some more room. Since Elle was obviously registering Neal's presence, Peter presumed this was not the apparition that had been appearing to him earlier. _This_ Neal might actually want him to respond. He _really_ didn't want to have this discussion, but it appeared that both his wife and his partner were demanding answers, and he couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of paranoid delusions were going through Mozzie's mind.


	14. Chapter 14

**Unintended Consequences**

DISCLAIMER: White Collar and the awesome Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network and my life is better because of it : )

A/N: Ok, so finally it's time for the fireworks! I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think.

_Peter really didn't want to have this discussion, but it appeared that both his wife and his partner were demanding answers. He couldn't begin to imagine what kind of paranoid delusions were going through Mozzie's mind at that moment._

_**Chapter 14**_

Peter's mind was whirling frantically trying to come up with a reason, _any_ reason, why he wouldn't have to discuss this right now, but when he finally looked around there were three sets of eyes on him; all waiting to hear his explanation.

He pulled out a chair from the dining room table and moved it closer to the couch just to buy himself more time to think.

"I was at the warehouse for a ransom drop. It was supposed to be simple: drop the cash, rescue the hostage. You were supposed to be Frank. No one else was supposed to be involved. No one was supposed to get hurt. I give Frank the money, I get Grace. End of story, which it would have been if you hadn't been trying to play the hero. Everything was under control."

Neal uttered a guttural noise of apparent disbelief.

"If everything was under control, why did you feel the need to pull your gun? If it was a peaceful drop, your gun would have still been holstered."

"It turned out to be dark, I thought Frank would try to pull something and he did. My instinct was dead on in regards to Frank. _You_ were the surprise."

"_I_ had a perfectly legitimate reason for being there. It was in my 2 mile radius. _I_ had everything under control until _you_ felt the need to come in with guns blazing!"

"I did not come in there with guns blazing! I had my gun drawn because it was dark and didn't look like a typical drop for a kidnapping. _I_ was prepared to meet a dangerous criminal which _you_ appeared to be."

"So, now you're admitting I _am_ a dangerous criminal? You are unbelievable. _You_ shot _me_! Maybe _you're _the dangerous criminal."

Neal looked up at Peter betrayal evident in his eyes. Both Mozzie and Elle gasped at this revelation, but both Peter and Neal were too focused on being angry with each other that they didn't even notice.

"I can't believe you really shot me."

"You had a _knife_! What did you think I was going to do? The hostage was in eminent danger!"

"_I_ was trying to rescue Grace. How was I to know _you_ would be there?"

"_You_ should have asked _me_ for help. Then I would have known what was going on and _we_ could have had a plan."

"_My_ plan was fine. _You_ messed it up. _I_ would have been able to rescue Grace and get her out of there."

"_I_ didn't know of the existence of your plan. Frank called the office with a ransom demand. It was an official FBI kidnapping operation. _I_ had every right to be there. _You_ called in sick."

"I _was_ sick. I was sick with worry over Grace."

"So was I."

"Why would you even care about the wife of a criminal? You're too straight-laced."

"Because she's _my_ sister and I would do _anything_ to protect her!"

"Grace is your sister? This whole time I've known you, even when you were chasing me, I never knew you had a sister! You aren't _anything_ alike."

"I'm well aware of that, ok? You really don't need to rub it in."

"Of course, I don't _need_ to rub it in, just like _you_ don't need to rub it in every time you mention if I don't solve a case I go back to prison!"

"You're still mad about that? Grow up! Actions have consequences; you have that anklet on because of choices you made. A deal's a deal."

"Perfect choice of words Peter, because this time it's _your_ actions that have consequences and not just for you. What about me? You shot me. What if you had killed me? What would have happened then? What kind of repercussions are there for you? Obviously, it won't be an anklet, but maybe you'll get suspended or be put on administrative leave. What happens to me then? What if I really don't want to work with you anymore? How can I know you have my back when you clearly don't? I trusted you. You're the only person I trusted and you shot me! How…"

Peter did not feel the discussion was going well _at all_, but he held up his hand to get Neal to stop his bitter diatribe for just a moment.

"I know you are furious with me…"

"I'm sorry, was I being too obvious?"

Neal's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"…and I can't say that I don't deserve it, but right now I am still in the middle of this case which you chose not to be a part of by calling in sick. I need some answers because you're the only one that can provide them and I need them now. I need to know whose side you are on. If _we_ don't solve this case, and yes I mean _we_, then yes, there is the possibility that Hughes will take punitive measures, and then I don't know what will happen to either you or me."

"Maybe I should leave of my own choosing while I still have a choice."

"Neal, I need your help in solving this case. I..."

"You're just concerned about your precious closure rate dropping if I don't help you. Why should I care?"

"Because helping me makes you look good too. Every case we close goes into your file and is one more positive item that we can use if our agreement is called into question."

Peter held up his index finger to silence another one of Neal's retorts.

"Shh. No talking. Frank mentioned escaping with a painting and leaving a red herring for the FBI to follow. He said that the police would find a painting at my house and that he was leaving the country with the real painting. He said that it would appear that you and I had gone into business together and we would be accused of art theft. Frank said you forged a painting. I assume it's the painting that appeared at my house. I need to know Neal…did you forge this painting for Frank?"

Neal shifted on the couch and then groaned as his ribs were protesting the movement. He still refused to make eye contact with Peter, and Peter noticed.

"Neal, why aren't you answering me? You're silver tongue isn't working today?"

Peter had expected another sarcastic comment from Neal, but when Neal finally looked up at him it was with a look that could kill. Peter felt goose bumps break out all over his skin. He had always thought of Neal as non-violent, but with that stare Peter was a bit nervous. He had never felt threatened by Neal before; could he really be a dangerous criminal like Frank? Once a conman always a conman, right? No, that wasn't Neal. Neal _wasn't_ a dangerous criminal. He had been able to talk Neal out of shooting Fowler. Neal was not a killer. Just stay calm Peter reminded himself and make sure he doesn't lift my wallet or my weapon. Just breathe. I've been in worse undercover situations before. Peter stole another glance over at Neal; the silence was becoming rather deafening, and the intensity of Neal's gaze was still giving him goose bumps. Did he dare proceed? Maybe he needed to be a firm father figure for Neal and not back down. Peter realized he had been rambling, but everything in his life right now seemed to be one disaster after another and he had reached his maximum level of frustration. How was it that when he _tried_ to do the right thing and he _tried_ to have all his bases covered, events _always_ seemed to spiral out of control leaving him with unintended consequences? Peter knew he couldn't solve this case alone; he needed Neal's insight, but he still wasn't entirely sure which side Neal was currently on.

"Ok. Neal, since you refuse to respond, I'm going to take that as a 'Yes, Peter, I forged the painting'. You aren't giving me a choice. You keep asking me why I don't trust you. This is why I can't trust you. Can this painting be traced back to you?"

"Peter, I have a really bad headache because of you, could you tone it down just a bit? I can't concentrate."

Neal's words were very choppy and well enunciated almost as if he was spitting them out attached to venom meant to poison Peter.

"Neal, I know you did this. You forged the Vermeer. Do you know where the original is? What did you copy from?"

"The pink diamond was allegedly signed by me too, but I didn't do it. I really do get it Peter. You didn't trust me then and you don't trust me now. Well, let me let you in on a little secret. I can't trust you anymore either."

Neal's gaze retained its intensity and Peter was starting to wonder if the venom was actually real because his stomach was really starting to feel queasy.

"Stop misdirecting. I know you're upset about the shooting, but I'm being serious. You forged a painting! I could send you back to jail for this."

"See, there you go again, threatening me with prison. I'm really shaking in my fine Italian leather shoes; and taking Frank's word over mine? I can't believe you would trust him over me."

"Take Frank's word over yours? You aren't denying it, Neal! You are refusing to say anything. That leaves me no choice but to take Frank at his word. Besides, Frank was apparently hell-bent on taking you, me and Elle down. You can't do that by bluffing."

Neal was so mad he completely missed hearing Peter's use of the word 'was' in relation to Frank; mistakenly assuming Frank was still alive.

"Frank is still mad at me about the museum heist from a few years back. We had a difference of opinion."

"So that makes forging a painting acceptable?"

"I didn't say that."

"Of course you didn't, because you aren't saying anything useful that will help me solve the case! You're not helping matters here."

Peter knew Neal would always misdirect and skate around the truth, but he had _never_ seen Neal this mad. Peter racked his brain what other tactics would possibly work with Neal.

"Frank was trying to draw me out and use the copy of the painting as a red herring. There's no way he would use the real painting for that. I know this was meant to be a forgery and I know you painted it. Deny you painted it to my face and I'll believe you."

Peter was pleading with the last sentence and looked hopefully into Neal's face. He was hoping beyond hope that Neal would just tell him he didn't do it, but the conman didn't say a word and that concerned Peter greatly. He was convinced that Neal knew more than he was telling. Peter also knew that getting any detailed information out of Neal would be like pulling teeth. Neal, on the other hand, had cooled off enough to realize with each passing moment that Peter was getting closer and closer to figuring it out. Neal was certain Peter wouldn't find any concrete evidence but Neal also knew anything he said _would_ be used against him. Annoyed that Neal was stonewalling him, Peter couldn't keep his obvious frustration out of his voice.

"What was Frank's role in this? He obviously kidnapped his own wife, but what did he tell you he was up to?"

There was still no response from Neal. Peter tried a different subject.

"What's with the note? The police found a big bouquet of flowers on the table at my house. It had a note that said 'You don't know what you have until it's gone'."

"I didn't send Elle flowers, Peter."

"You have before. _Somebody_ was sending me a message. Was it referring to me because Frank had this sick obsession with getting me fired or was it referring to his plan to take my wife?"

"I don't know."

"Why would we be in business together?"

Peter noticed a slight smirk growing on Neal's face; at least that was better than the death glare from earlier.

"I think we'd make a great team. I'd even settle for Burke and Caffrey as you mentioned at the bank. We could be like Frank and Jesse James."

Neal paused for a moment, a concerned look crossing his face.

"On second thought, that might not be such a good idea. I don't want anything to do with guns, and I'm not so sure I want you to be waving one around either after what happened. Well, at least we'd be smarter than the Apple Dumpling Gang."

Mozzie snorted loudly and convulsed into a laughing fit so hard that Elle felt the need to escort him into the kitchen to get him some water and help him calm down. Peter was trying hard not to laugh, but he was certain a smile was creeping onto his face. He _was_ really mad at Neal, but the conman had a way with words. It was also kind of creepy that this incident had reminded them both of the bank heist situation. It made Peter wonder who else might be thinking along those same lines and believe it. He had to solve the case quickly before someone came forward with additional evidence that Frank may have planted.

"Yes, Neal. We would definitely be smarter than the Apple Dumpling Gang, but in all seriousness, _we_ need to solve this case. Neal, I really need to know why Frank even came to you in the first place."

Neal was silent again. His misdirection had failed to distract Peter long enough to come up with a suitable explanation. His brain was failing to find any adequate words that wouldn't be a complete lie. He did not want to lie to Peter, but he also knew that Peter was never going to understand why he had felt the need to help Frank and forge the Vermeer painting. He hated the fact that he was a romantic at heart. If it had been anybody but Grace, he wouldn't have even considered it, but now it was too late. Not hearing a response from Neal, Peter continued thinking out loud hoping that Neal would jump in to defend himself.

"Frank wouldn't need you to steal anything. He could have that done by any flunky if he didn't want to do it himself. However, there must have been a certain skill he was after. Instead of going after you directly he does the next best thing and comes to you for help and then double crosses you."

Peter stopped and noticed that Neal was staring at the floor still not bothering to contradict anything he was saying – this was a very bad sign. Neal could lie through his teeth and make you believe it, but now he wasn't even trying to lie to Peter…worse, he wasn't even attempting to defend himself or deflect Peter's statements.

"Come on Neal. I need you to tell me the truth. I need to know what was going on with Frank."

"Why don't you ask him? If he wants to take me down so bad, he should be more than cooperative with information about me."

"Frank is dead Neal. Grace shot him."

"Grace shot him? I thought she shot you, I mean...I thought…"

Neal couldn't continue. He realized it was bad enough Peter had found out about the painting and he was already convinced Neal was guilty, but there was no way on earth he wanted to get into a discussion about why he had tried to protect Peter. Besides, it was very clear to Neal that at this very moment Peter was obviously not feeling grateful to Neal for saving his life.

"I've already heard Frank's side of the story. He told me while you were passed out, but I don't think it was the whole story. I want to hear your side; every story has two sides Neal and I want to hear yours."

"No, you don't."

Peter was about to let out a yell of frustration. It was probably a good thing that there was nothing in his hands that he could throw because Neal was definitely the intended target.

"Could you _possibly_ be any more annoying? IF I DIDN'T WANT TO HEAR IT, I WOULDN'T HAVE ASKED YOU!"

Peter reminded himself to calm down and took a deep breath. He jumped a little when he felt Elle's hand rubbing his arm. She had apparently come back from the kitchen without him noticing and was standing beside him trying to help him calm down now.

"I want the truth, Neal. I want to know what's going on. What does Frank have on you? It's got to be big. I know if we have this painting authenticated it will not be Vermeer's actual painting. That's the only reason he would need your help. It was something big and important enough to attract your attention and give you a challenge; otherwise there would be no incentive for you. Did he pay you? What was in it for you? Why would you do something like this?"

Neal ignored Peter's questions and attempted to get up from the couch. He put one hand on the edge of the couch and pushed himself up. At least he was feeling much better than he had earlier. He took a few steps toward the door before he remembered Elle had taken his jacket off earlier. He turned around to look for it when he noticed that Peter had gotten up as well and was standing right behind him.

"Tell me you didn't do this Neal. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't do this."

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific on what you think I did."

"Somehow you found out Grace was kidnapped, somehow you figured out where she was, and somehow you threw all common sense aside and forged a painting behind my back."

"You don't have proof that I sold this painting as the real thing. It showed up on your doorstep, so someone sold it to you as the real thing, but it wasn't me. You don't even have any proof that I painted it to begin with."

"I didn't buy it. It was delivered and it was signed for. It was not purchased by me. How did this become my fault?"

"Is this Peter asking or Agent Burke?"

"Why does that matter?"

"It does."

"If I choose to be Peter will you promise not to leave until we have resolved this issue?"

Neal didn't say anything, but Peter could tell he was thinking about it.

"Since we are at my home, for the moment I can be Peter, but you have to know that if you implicate yourself, it would be my duty as a private citizen, not just an FBI Agent, to take you in. You know that right?"

"I'm well aware of the parameters as well as the statute of limitations."

Peter let out a deep breath. Maybe Neal needed more of a fatherly figure's advice. He clearly wasn't getting anywhere just asking direct questions.

"Why couldn't you just have called me? We could have done this the right way. I get the feeling you forg…ah…copied this painting that was at my house because Frank asked you to, but I'm wondering why you would say yes."

"To use the word 'copy' would imply that I copied it from the original painting, which means you think I know where the original is. Neither is true."

Neal slowly walked back toward the couch. He felt Peter, Elle and Mozzie all looking at him. He would really prefer the earth opening up and swallowing him before admitting to anything, but he found himself wanting to explain what happened to Peter without directly implicating himself.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you Peter. I was trying to help Grace. She and Kate got along fairly well. I…I wanted to save her like I couldn't save Kate. I didn't know she was your sister. I didn't want you involved in something Mozzie and I could handle. I guess it doesn't matter anymore because you've already made up your mind about me. I'm sorry I let you down. May I go home now?"

"I want to help you Neal, I really do, but regardless of Kate and Grace's interaction, you went behind my back. You know if we find proof you had _anything_ to do with this painting…"

Peter paused running his hands through his hair…He was trying to come up with a threat that would actually scare Neal, but his mind was so frustrated at the whole situation that he couldn't think clearly.

"Neal…look at me…"

Peter waited until Neal's eyes slowly rose to meet his, a little too reluctantly in Peter's opinion.

Neal knew he was really having trouble maintaining eye contact with Peter and he was sure Peter could see right through him; that Peter knew he hadn't told him everything. Peter had deduced fairly accurately what was going on so far. Neal's mind was frantically trying to create alternate possibilities; to figure out how to talk his way out of this situation, but he wasn't coming up with anything that Peter would believe, so he tried stalling.

"Peter, could you clarify exactly what you mean by anything?"

"Why do I even bother?"

"I never said I forged the painting, Peter. I just said I was trying to help Grace, so I was wondering if that qualified as 'anything'."

"I can't help you if I don't know what happened."

"I need you to listen as Peter because Peter would understand why I had to help Grace."

"I told you; I'm listening as Peter."

"If Mozzie hadn't intervened, it would have been Elizabeth too. Then you would have done anything to get her back. I know I failed Kate, but I was trying to make it up by helping Grace. I couldn't let her die too! I am hoping Peter will understand that."

Peter felt ashamed that he had completely forgotten of Elizabeth's peril for the moment while he had been focusing on being angry at Neal. Peter turned to Mozzie who had returned and was again sitting in a chair next to the couch.

"Thank you, Mozzie. I mean it. I don't know what I would have done if Frank had kidnapped Elizabeth."

"Thanks accepted, Suit. Mrs. Suit is a rare gem, you are lucky to have her."

"I know."

Elle reached down and put her arms around her husband's neck, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

The show of affection sent shivers down Neal's spine as he regretted not being able to kiss Kate one last time. He shrugged off the feeling, slipping a more confident mask in its place.

"Peter, regardless of how the painting came into being, I think we can use it to catch some of Frank's co-workers. If we can spread the word that I stole the original from Frank, what do you think they would do to get their hands on it? If Frank took off with it originally and that wasn't part of the plan, someone has more than likely been stewing about it for years. We can catch them if any of his accomplices are willing to do anything to get it back. If we dangle this painting as bait the original would not be at risk if something didn't work out."

"This is what you're giving me to work with? You won't admit to painting this work of art that's sitting in my living room, but 'oh by the way here's a way to put it to good use'? That's an interesting idea, but we still don't have the original. If we arrest them with this painting, there's no proof that they are trying to buy or sell it _as_ the original. They could innocently claim it's just a copy and when they run the test it will be. The only way this would work is if the painting that we are claiming is real, for the purposes of this sting, is mysteriously replaced with the original during transport to the FBI offices _after_ the arrest takes place."

"Did I just hear the great law abiding FBI Agent Peter Burke just allude to tampering with evidence?"

"Who, me? Never, but I'm betting a certain forger would be quite willing to tamper with a certain piece of evidence created by himself to keep himself out of jail."


	15. Chapter 15

**Unintended Consequences**

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Everyone have a Happy New Year! I meant to have this story done by the end of the year, but I guess that's not going to happen. Hope you don't mind too much that I'm ending the year with another compelling cliffhanger ; )

"_Did I just hear the great law abiding FBI Agent Peter Burke just allude to tampering with evidence?"_

"_Who, me? Never, but I'm betting a certain forger would be quite willing to tamper with a certain piece of evidence created by himself to keep himself out of jail."_

**Chapter 15**

"What if I refuse?"

"Your call."

"You two are insufferable. Why don't you just make up and get over it? I am sick and tired of hearing you two fight.

Elle sounded very upset at both and was unsure whose side to be on; both men needed to apologize, but both men completely ignored her.

"You don't have anything on me, Peter. You can't prove anything other than the bonds. I don't have to help you with this case. Who knows, this painting might just disappear and the thieves of the original painting may never be caught."

"It was _your_ idea to use the painting as bait in the first place."

"Oh, so now suddenly it's a bad idea?"

"I didn't say it was a bad idea there are just issues that need to be worked through."

Elle shook her head and motioned for Mozzie to join her in the kitchen.

"I'm trying to help you solve your case and you turned it around as blackmail. I'm not taking the bait."

"Is that really what you want to do?"

"What I really want to do is to walk out of here right now and never come back! You thank Mozzie for saving Elle, but I don't get one word of thanks for saving your miserable hide much less trying to save your sister. I was _trying_ to do what's right. I do listen...on occasion. I know that's not my default method of operation, but all I could think about was protecting you because you shouldn't have been involved with someone who had a grudge against me. Send me back to jail if you want, it would probably be safer and I wouldn't have to worry about protecting any so-called friends. I had no idea of Frank's relationship to you. I was trying to do the right thing and this is the thanks I get. Why should I bother?"

Neal didn't wait for an answer to his question. He wasn't expecting one as he got up from the couch again. This time he didn't care about his jacket as he moved to the door as quickly as possible without completely jarring his ribs. He opened the door, slipped through and slammed it as hard as possible. He hoped that sent a message to Peter that their partnership was in ruins and it was up to Peter to fix it.

Elle peeked out from the kitchen after hearing the door slam. Peter sat frozen on the couch and Neal was nowhere in sight. Looking at it from Neal's perspective, Peter could see how Neal had taken offense. He was going to apologize and thank Neal, but he just hadn't gotten to that point yet. He had been trying to stay on the offensive during their banter and get useful case information from Neal before the leads died out. He should have known better.

"Peter? Where's Neal?"

"Hmm? Oh, uh, he left."

"Without his jacket?"

"He must have forgotten it."

"Well, go after him. He's going to freeze if he tries to walk."

Elle was already moving to get Neal's jacket from the closet and thrust it at Peter.

"Get going. You can always track his anklet. Make sure you apologize for whatever you said that drove him away."

Peter uttered a small groan. Why was his wife always so perceptive? He knew this was a good thing and he loved her for it, but he hated it when she used it against him. Peter grabbed his keys and his coat and left to track down his partner before Neal got himself into even more trouble.

##

Neal was walking down the street in the general direction of June's. He thought about hailing a cab, but he was not in the mood for a chatty cab driver. His blood was still boiling so he hadn't really missed his jacket yet even though it was fairly cold out. Morning just beginning to break, and the sky was beginning lighten enough to see the outlines of the buildings beyond what was visible from the lights of the passing cars. He wanted to walk to release his pent up frustrations, but he was having trouble trying to concentrate on keeping one foot in front of the other in a straight line without moving his ribs more than absolutely necessary.

It was a vicious cycle - letting the cold numb him so that he didn't feel the pain from his ribs, but yet moving enough so that he didn't freeze and was making progress in walking toward June's. His slow progress was making him re-think his cab decision; he was never going to make it back to June's without freezing at this rate. Maybe all Peter would find would be his stiff and frozen body. He was certain Peter would eventually come after him. If there was one thing Peter was, it was predictable. Peter would then chew him out and tell Neal he was stubborn and bull headed, but at the moment Neal didn't really care. He knew this wasn't the first time Peter had been mad at him and he was sure it wouldn't be the last, but for once Neal couldn't think of anything he would have done differently. He had to save Grace and there hadn't been any time to plan a con or come up with different scenarios. He imagined Peter had felt the same way, but wouldn't admit it to himself.

##

Grace was sitting with Jones and Diana in the conference room at the FBI headquarters. Jones had pulled all the records on their storage rentals.

"Do you have any idea which one of these rentals the painting might be in?"

"Agent Jones, I wish I knew. It has to be in one of them though. I am certain it's not in our apartment, so it has to be there somewhere."

"Mrs. Corleone, would you please sign here stating that we have your permission to search your storge lockers. It will be later this morning."

Grace signed her signature, put the pen down and looked over at Jones.

"Nobody has told me anything, but I was wondering is Neal ok?"

"I'm not really sure ma'am. I haven't been to the hospital, and I don't know that Peter has either. Have you heard anything, Diana?"

"No, but why don't I call them and see."

"Thank you. Agent..."

"Barrigan, Agent Diana Barrigan. I guess we haven't been officially introduced have we? I'm sorry."

Diana reached over and shook Grace's hand.

"I assume since you know his name, you've met Neal before?"

"Yes, I knew him several years ago, he and my husband did a couple jobs together. I knew Kate as well."

"Ah. Ok. Well, why don't we go over to my desk so I can call the hospital."

Diana got up and motioned for Grace to follow her. She turned back to look at Jones.

"I'll let you know when we are ready to go."

Diana walked toward her desk and indicated a chair next to it for Grace to sit in.

Diana picked up the phone and dialed the number for the hospital, identifying herself as FBI and asked for the status of the FBI consultant that had been brought in several hours ago. Grace noticed Diana's face turn into a grimace before she hung up.

"Is Neal ok?"

"Apparently, he didn't want to stay overnight, so they checked him out and let him leave a couple hours ago. It must not have been too serious then."

"Thank you for checking, Agent Barrigan. I really appreciate it."

Diana looked over at Grace with a sad smile.

"I'm sorry, Grace. We have to go, I can't stall any longer. NYPD will need to book you, but you should be able to get bail as soon as the paperwork is processed. I'll tell them you're not a flight risk. We'll just have to wait until they have a trial date set and then we'll testify on your behalf. You won't have to go through this alone."

"I'm just glad Peter is still alive. We all have to make choices, and I'm willing to accept responsibility for it and let justice prevail."

Grace looked down at her hands, and half chuckled looking back up at Diana.

"You know, a year ago, if you would have asked me about my life or doing what's right, I would probably have laughed in your face, but I've been slowly realizing how wrong I've been. I've been following Peter's career, but I don't really think I understood him until he forgave me even when he thought I was going to pull the trigger and kill him. He is a wonderful brother and I'm sorry I waited this long to get to know him."

Grace stood up signaling she was ready to go, and Diana signaled to Jones who had returned to his desk. He reached for his jacket and joined the two women opening the door for them as they walked out to the elevators.

##

"You look cold."

Neal knew the voice but didn't turn around or stop walking; hoping against hope Peter would go away, but he was well aware of the agent's persistence.

"Come on Neal, its cold out here. You need a coat."

Neal increased his pace slightly, but otherwise failed to acknowledge Peter's presence.

"Look, I'm sorry. I meant to thank you earlier, but I didn't. Can we talk?"

"Isn't that what we have been doing?"

Neal didn't stop walking until Peter grasped Neal's shoulder and forcibly turned him around shoving Neal's jacket into his hands.

"If you catch a cold Elle will hold me personally responsible. At least accept the jacket."

Neal wasn't sure he could get the jacket on, but he wasn't about to ask Peter for help. Peter however saw his hesitation and figured out the problem.

"Here let me help you."

Neal begrudgingly accepted Peter's help as he slowly slipped his arms in the sleeves. The jacket _was_ warmer.

"Why don't we grab some coffee and get you warmed up?"

"You know you're schizophrenic right? One moment you're angry, then you're black mailing me and now you're being nice?"

Peter turned and motioned Neal in the direction of the Taurus parked several hundred feet away.

"And whose fault do you think that is?"

Peter started the car and Neal turned all the vents he could reach toward him for warmth. He rubbed his hands back and forth for a few seconds before he turned to look at Peter with his completely innocent look.

"Seriously, Peter all the troubles of the world cannot be blamed on me. You give me too much credit."

Peter noticed the innocent look present on Neal's face and grinned; all hope was not lost.

"Any gray hair I may have now or in the future will most definitely have your name written all over it."

"And which name would that be? You know I have several."

Peter couldn't help but smile.

"I don't think you really want out of this partnership, Neal. You enjoy sparring with me. Who else trusts you? Who else do you trust? I _do_ have your back. I would have told you about the kidnapping, but you called in sick and I didn't want to bother you."

"I know. I should have called you."

Peter resisted the urge to say 'I told you so' as he found a parking spot not too far from a coffee shop they frequented and shut off the car.

"I have requested that Jones searches all the storage units that Frank & Grace had rented. I'm sure we'll find the painting in there and I do like your plan, but first I need coffee."

Neal and Peter both exited the Taurus and entered the coffee shop. There were a few early risers sitting at various tables, but it wasn't the bustling crowd that would come later.

"I'll get the coffee, would you find us a table?"

Neal nodded his ascent and scoped out the layout. He really didn't want a table, but then he noticed there was a deserted corner of the store that had two couches and a couple stuffed chairs. Neal made his way over and carefully lowered himself into the plush chair. There were some low hanging lights with a soft glow and paintings scattered on the wall that created a relaxing atmosphere. He sighed deeply and let himself relax for the first time in many hours. He was just going to close his eyes until Peter got back with the coffee.

Peter ordered two coffees from the barista as well as two blueberry scones. He finally found Neal fast asleep on a plush chair near the back of the coffee shop. He set the tray down and sat on the nearby couch. He picked up his coffee and observed his partner. He wondered if Neal had been sleeping well lately, but with the events of the last couple days, it was probably a given. He waited for a few more minutes just to see if Neal would wake up on his own, but he didn't. He reached for Neal's coffee and tried to get the young man to wake up.

"Neal."

The figure didn't move. Peter gently tapped Neal on the shoulder and stepped back in case Neal was startled or tried to put up a fight. Finally Neal's eyes flickered open and there was a look of panic before it was replaced with relief and he slowly reached for the coffee in Peter's outstretched hand.

Peter looked him directly in the eyes.

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Neal was not about to tell Peter that he had been reliving the shooting incident over again in his mind for however long he had been out. For just a second when he saw Peter holding something out to him, he thought it was a gun.

"It's ok, Neal. We're both tired. It's understandable. I know you are upset, but I assure you I haven't forgotten what you did. I know you tried to save my life by throwing yourself in the path of Grace's bullet, but what I didn't tell you was that it was actually Frank who fired the shot. Frank was holding a gun on her demanding she shoot me. When she pulled the trigger she apparently turned and shot Frank instead. Frank took shot his while he was falling, realizing what Grace had done. Grace should be cleared because her shot was in self defense. I was wearing a vest, but there's no way you could have know that. What you did Neal was heroic. You should be proud of yourself, and I _am_ proud of you even if I didn't tell you right away."

Neal blushed after the honest praise from Peter, but proceeded to misdirect in typical Caffrey fashion.

"Yeah, well that's what consultants are for, to step into the line of fire."

"Neal, don't belittle this or misdirect. You are not a secret service agent, you are not trained to be a secret service agent, and despite your good looks, I don't think anyone would mistake you for Clint Eastwood. This could have been prevented. Communication before things go wrong is critical. I need you to talk to me; tell me what's going on and maybe we can prevent a crisis like this from happening again."

"So, you're not mad at me and you're willing to overlook a few of my indiscretions in the past few days?"

"There's another aspect that comes with justice, Neal, and it's not revenge, tempting though that may be. No, it's mercy. As Peter I am offering you mercy because I know what you did. I heard your explanation and I am choosing to forgive you. I'm also asking if you would do the same and forgive me for shooting you. It could also be considered unconditional love. I love you like a father to a son. I know what you did and I love you _anyway_. As far as Agent Burke is concerned, I wasn't aware that you had admitted to any wrong doing and I have no official evidence to charge you with. However, Neal…"

Peter waited until Neal looked up at him and locked his gaze.

"Next time, I am begging you to contact me first before you do anything, and I mean _anything_, no clarification required. I mean it."

"I understand, Peter, and I forgive you, too. Partners again?"

"Yeah, partners. I've got your back."

"I'm still wearing a bullet proof vest just in case."

Neal tried to shift just slightly away from Peter just in case he tried to flick him on the shoulder for his comment, but then realized Peter was just sitting there smiling at him.

"By the way, Neal, how many more people might possibly have grudges against you that I don't know about?"

"As numerous as the stars in the sky or the sand on the seashore."

"I thought that was the number of Abraham's descendants…"

"There's very few people that don't have a grudge against me."

"Okay then…yeah, this is going to be fun."

##

Grace had almost reached the entrance of the police station accompanied by Jones and Diana on either side of her when a sudden impact drove her forward and she crumpled to the ground, motionless. Jones quickly lifted Grace and entered the building as Diana opened the door, weapon ready and scanning for the shooter. Seeing nothing, she followed Jones into the relative safety of the police station.


	16. Chapter 16

**Unintended Consequences**

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

_Grace had almost reached the entrance of the police station accompanied by Jones and Diana on either side of her when a sudden impact drove her forward and she crumpled to the ground, motionless. _

**Chapter 16**

After flashing their badges to a police officer at the front desk, Jones and Diana quickly explained the situation. While one of the cops helped them carry Grace out the back and into a cruiser, another officer scanned the rooftops with binoculars, but the sniper was nowhere to be seen. Quickly settling into the police cruiser, the officer took off with sirens on; racing to the nearest hospital which he informed them was the Mount Sinai Medical Center.

Trying to balance himself in the speeding car and not having the ability to put his seatbelt on because Grace's legs were on his lap, Jones pulled out his phone to dial Peter and update him on the situation. When Peter didn't answer, he remembered that Peter couldn't find his phone earlier, and they hadn't had a chance to check the surveillance van they had been in earlier. He was going to have to do what he thought was best and inform Peter later when he was reachable. Jones knew it was obvious Grace had been targeted; he had no doubts this was not a random drive-by. Since it was obvious someone had found Grace, it was more than likely this same person had also been following Frank, and Jones was also fairly certain it was the painting this unknown assailant was after. The FBI willingly or not was in a race against time to find the original painting before this unknown shooter and any accomplices found the painting first and took out any innocent bystanders. He had to do something and quickly.

"Diana, I forgot Peter doesn't have his phone. He couldn't find it earlier after the drop. I need you to stay with Grace at the hospital while I check out the storage lockers. She'll be more comfortable when she wakes up and see's you instead of me."

Diana noticed that Jones chose to say _when_ Grace wakes up and not _if_ she wakes up. She realized she needed to stay positive as well. Grace was a strong woman and Diana really hoped she would pull through. If there was one thing Diana did not want to do today it would be breaking the news to Peter that after everything they had been through, his sister was dead because she and Jones had failed to sufficiently protect her. Diana shook her head to clear her thoughts and attempt to focus on doing her job despite the obvious reminder from the amount of blood that covered her that something had gone terribly wrong.

"That's probably true. Who ever took the shot must know she is able to identify them or are trying to send her a message and keep her quiet. I can't tell exactly where she was hit, but it's really soaking through this towel. Once things calm down I can try and call Peter at home from the hospital."

"That sounds like a good plan. Let me know when you get a hold of him. Until then, I need to check out these storage places."

"Ok. I'll keep you updated about Grace as well."

The police car screeched to a halt at the emergency room entrance and Diana tried to brace herself as much as possible so that the towel wouldn't be dislodged by the sudden stop. There were several nurses already waiting with a gurney as the officer driving had radioed ahead to tell them they were coming. The officer had already gotten out of the car to open the rear door and one of the male nurses lifted Grace out of Diana's arms and situated her on the gurney. Another nurse helped Diana out of the patrol car and asked her if she was hurt in any way, due to the sheer amount of blood on her clothes. Diana assured the nurse she was fine as they both followed the other nurses rushing the gurney into the hospital.

Jones was frozen as he watched Diana disappear through the doors following the nurses. How had he let this happen? What clues did he miss? He had already decided he didn't have time to stay when he saw the officer getting back in the car.

"Mind if I ride back with you? I need to get my car parked back at the station. I have a couple of leads I need to follow up on as soon as possible."

"No problem, man. Glad I can help, but you'll probably be more comfortable if you sit up front."

The officer got out and opened the door for him, and Jones slid comfortably into the passenger seat noticing for the first time that he did have a little bit of Grace's blood on him. This case was too important for him to go home and change; whoever was after the painting wouldn't stop for anything, and Jones wasn't about to let a few spots of blood slow him down either.

##

"Mind if I sit over here? I wouldn't want to disrupt any private conversation you were having."

Peter looked up to see a man about his own age holding a coffee mug in one hand and motioning toward a nearby plush chair with his other hand.

"Not at all, feel free."

Peter looked back over at Neal who had once again closed his eyes and lightly tapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on Neal, the coffee will wake you up and probably warm you up. I even got you a blueberry scone; don't let it go to waste."

Neal opened his eyes and sat up reaching for the coffee. He took several sips soaking in the warmth before he looked up at Peter.

"So what now?"

"Now we are going to relax a few minutes, you are going to warm up and we can both enjoy our coffee and scones. Once we leave here I'm sure it will be another crazy day and I need you to be awake and alert. We have to find this painting before someone else does."

"Anything's better than more boring mortgage fraud cases."

Peter chuckled.

"I can't say I disagree with you."

##

"I didn't know you FBI guys got up so early. What's so important in a storage locker that couldn't wait a couple more hours? Have you even had breakfast yet? Wait a minute."

The clerk looked Jones up and down noticing for the first time the blood that was streaking his suit.

"Is that blood? Are you ok?"

Jones gave the storage rental clerk a disapproving look and another of the FBI agents that Jones had called in to help snickered as well.

"People don't commit crimes only during business hours sir, and I haven't had time to change. As you can see we have the authorization we need so if you would open up the storage locker for us, we would really appreciate it."

The clerk whose faded name tag read 'Hank' did not seem to understand the urgency behind the situation, even _after_ he had noticed the blood stains. Jones didn't bother to inform the guy that this was the third place they had been to already and they still hadn't found what they were looking for. Jones was getting worried that maybe they were too late. Maybe Grace had been shot because the painting had been found and she knew who the alleged thieves were.

Hank slowly moved around of the edge of the counter; the expanse of his waistline becoming visible. Jones fought back a laugh as he thought 'well that explains the sloth pace and the obsession with breakfast and food in general.' Bored by the excruciatingly slow pace, the FBI agents all spotted a golf cart Hank appeared to be headed toward. All three uttered a collective sigh of relief that maybe it wouldn't take all day to reach the storage unit in question.

Hank turned around when he reached the cart and saw the curious and slightly relieved gaze coming from Jones.

"You didn't think I was going to walk all the way there did you? Goodness no, climb aboard boys and hold on."

The three FBI agents climbed in and discovered true to Hank's word that they did need to hang on. In direct contradiction to his walking pace, Hank seemed to have his foot all the way down on the acceleration pedal as the electric cart careened around one corner and then another. Jones was suddenly glad that he didn't have breakfast because he wasn't sure how a full stomach would have handled this ride; of course Frank would have chosen the farthest possible rental unit.

Without any warning the same force applied to the acceleration pedal was now applied to the brake. The cart screeched to a halt and everyone in the cart was flung forward, muscles being stretched as grips tightened. Hank dislodged himself from behind the steering wheel as if nothing had happened. Jones was still trying to get his breath and unlock his fingers from the death grip he had on one of the cart's poles. The other two FBI agents didn't seem to be fairing much better. Hank had gotten the lock off and slid the door up when he noticed that Jones and his team hadn't gotten out of the cart yet, so he turned around to figure out what the problem was.

"I thought you guys were in a hurry! I don't know if this is what you are looking for, seems like it's all just collecting dust to me. Did you want me to wait and give you a ride back? I'm not sure what there is to find here, it all looks like junk to me.

Jones had finally managed to get out of the cart and take a few steps toward the storage unit.

"You know what they say. One man's junk is another man's treasure. It might take a while to go through it, and I think we'd rather walk back ourselves, thanks for the offer though."

"Whatever floats your boat I guess. Here's the lock, secure the door when you're finished. I hope you find whatever you're looking for."

"Yeah, me too."

Jones realized he had said that in a more sarcastic tone than he had intended; indicating a serious lack of sleep. Once he had gone through a few boxes, he was already exhausted and grumpy. Just a few more hours he reminded himself and hopefully it would be all over and he could take a nice long hot shower and settle into a warm bed. Until then though, he was going to have to sort through boxes of junk, sneezing suddenly as a liberated dust bunny from one of the opened boxes floated too near his nose for comfort. He sneezed again and at the same time felt a vibration on his hip, not realizing until it vibrated again that it was his cell phone ringing. Jones looked at the caller ID.

'Oh, great, he thought, what does Neal need now?'


	17. Chapter 17

**Unintended Consequences**

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

_[Jones] sneezed again and at the same time felt a vibration on his hip, not realizing until it vibrated again that it was his cell phone ringing. [He] looked at the caller ID. _

'_Oh, great, he thought, what does Neal need now?'_

**Chapter 17**

_Several minutes earlier…_

Peter had finished his coffee and scone, but Neal still had some coffee, two bites of his scone left and his eyes were closed again. Peter wasn't sure if Neal was actually sleeping or just trying to avoid having a conversation with him. He reached over and tapped Neal lightly on the shoulder.

"We should get going."

Neal didn't move or respond.

"Leaving so soon, Agent Burke? You know, I've heard your pet con really needs his beauty sleep."

Peter looked up in surprise as it was not Neal's voice that had responded; instead it was the man with the coffee mug in his hand who had earlier asked if he could sit in the nearby plush chair.

"How do you know my name? I don't know yours."

Peter was beginning to feel a knot developing in the pit of his stomach; something was wrong. He was positive he had not introduced himself and definitely not as an FBI agent. How did this person know who he was?

"My name is not important, but I would like you to meet an acquaintance of mine."

The man with the coffee mug indicated another man standing off to Peter's right. Peter looked over and noticed a rather large man who had moved his jacket slightly to reveal a weapon in his holster.

"Now that we have your attention, we are only interested in the painting. We have been tracking Frank for quite a while. We heard rumors about him having possession of the painting. We saw him coming out of a certain mansion with said object and we eventually tracked it to your house, but we were unable to secure it at that point. Just as a little extra incentive, we've also tracked down Frank's wife in case you decide not to be cooperative. A little birdie who was most informative told us that Frank's wife just happens to be your long lost sister. We would have liked to see your wife as well, Agent Burke, just to sweeten the pot, but she seems to have disappeared. Even more interesting is your relationship with this criminal. Why would he be involved with this painting, and why did it mysteriously disappear at your house?"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

Peter wasn't about to admit to anything just yet; almost no one knew he had a sister, so he had no idea how they would have figured it out unless Frank had bragged years ago when he and Grace were first married. Peter quickly realized these guys must be the original accomplices from the Vermeer theft and had been unintentionally tracking the fake believing it to be the original. Frank must have realized someone was on to him. He was more than likely desperate for quick money and ditched his wife because she would slow him down. Peter also surmised that Frank was a fan of Genghis Khan, "It is not sufficient that I succeed – all others must fail." The gruff looking body guard finally cleared his thought with a deep cough and spoke; his tone leaving no room for argument.

"We know Caffrey lives at that mansion that we saw Frank leave from with the painting. We were able to track Caffrey here. We know he's been working with Frank. We were hoping he could lead us to the painting. Through our research we discovered that he also works for you and you just happened to be related to Frank. It's a small world after all isn't it?"

Neal opened his eyes feeling the urge to state the obvious. He hadn't really been sleeping; he just wanted a few more minutes to close his eyes and rest. The additional benefit, of course, was to annoy Peter, but listening to the conversation, he could sense things were getting tense.

"You do know I'm sitting here, right? I'm not deaf."

The man with the coffee who had yet to be identified raised his index finger indicating he wanted silence.

"We just wanted you both to know that _we_ know who you are and we know how you both operate. Now, we don't need to use force unless you refuse to go along with our demands. So, Mr. Caffrey, now that you're awake, we want to deal with you. Here's the plan. We keep your FBI friend and we'll release him in return for the Vermeer painting. You don't come through; your friend here will not be a happy camper."

"Who said he was my friend? One less FBI Agent in my life would make things a whole lot easier. Where were you guys 5 years ago when I really needed you?"

Neal chuckled attempting to insert some humor into the otherwise tense situation.

"We weren't born yesterday. We've been studying you and your partner long enough to know that you seem to work well together, although we haven't figured out why. Let's see how good you are apart."

"I'm confused. Is that supposed to be some kind of incentive for me to bring you the painting? You think I _want_ to work with him? If you knew me at all, you would know the real reason I escaped and it wasn't to work with him."

"Ah, yes, the lovely Kate. We did hear about that tragic end and that you have not been quite yourself since."

"That may be true, but obviously you know my reputation. I'm not about to confess to anything I may or may not have done in my past, so I'm not sure why you think I would turn over a multi-million dollar painting in exchange for an FBI Agent. I need a better incentive if you want my help. I know you've been looking for this painting for close to 20 years, so perhaps this can be a win-win situation for both of us. I give you something you want, and you help me with something I want."

Neal flashed his mega-watt smile with just the right hint of confidence with an overlay of superiority.

The man took a few sips of the coffee letting total silence dominate for at least a minute before he looked over at his partner/bodyguard. Neal could see the wheels turning as the man analyzed the different angles of Neal's proposal. Neal was certain they wanted the painting bad enough to be willing to negotiate for a few pieces of information about the heist itself. Now, if only Peter didn't have it in his head to somehow kill him before he could pull this off, Neal felt he could possibly get both of them out of this alive. The man with the coffee mug finally looked back at Neal.

"What is it that you want?"

Neal looked quickly over at Peter trying to gauge his attitude. Neal feared that as soon as he started talking, daggers would be flying out of Peter's eyes. He knew Peter could possibly ruin his impromptu plan to get them out of this mess.

"I may or may not be planning a little heist of my own, and I am curious as to how you pulled off the Gardner robbery. My reputation has taken a bit of a hit after getting caught, and I am attempting to resurrect it. As you can probably imagine, the arrangement with Agent Burke has caused me no small amount of embarrassment and I am interested in pursuing other options. However, being on the FBI payroll does have certain investigative advantages that would help me find this painting, so I don't necessarily want to burn those bridges by having my handler killed or otherwise disposed of. Being on the run from the FBI, as I am sure you well know, isn't all it's cracked up to be. I need to appear to be the hero and 'save' Agent Burke from certain death. I do have a certain image to maintain with them as well. I'm sure you know how important perception is, even if it's not based in reality. I just need one last score to set myself up for life. You know, nice beach house in the Cayman's without worrying about being chased by the Feds. I could settle down, start over, find a wife, have a family, make a pot roast or two…maybe even have a dog."

Neal was hoping that his mention of Peter's famous pot roast and alluding to Satch would clue Peter in that this was a con, but he couldn't really turn to see Peter's expression at the moment.

"Let me get this straight, you a famous conman, thief and forger want our advice?"

"I think I've gotten a bit rusty, I've been in prison for 4 years and I am a big fan of your work; completely mind-blowing. I don't want advice from any low-life on the street; I want _your_ advice. I can find the painting and we can swap heist stories, maybe I can even clue you in on what it's like working for the FBI. You know what they say, 'Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and I have to admit I was totally impressed with your heist'. I'd love to share strategies."

Neal's tone had turned into one of boyish exuberance. Peter had heard the reference Neal had made in regard to the pot roast and Satch and figured Neal was trying to clue him in that he wasn't really planning anything like that. Looking at Neal's face, Peter was convinced that Neal was completely interested in learning their secrets instead of just trying to feign interest to get what he wanted. Peter realized Neal had that same goofy look on his face when they went to interview Tulane, a suspect in the heist of the pink diamond, whom Neal regarded as a legend. It didn't take much to see that Neal was completely impressed with this robbery as well.

"You really are one of the most interesting people I've met, Mr. Caffrey. If you can get us the painting, we'll talk - away from your Fed friend. You have until noon tomorrow to find the painting; your friend stays with us."

The bodyguard moved closer to Peter with an intimidating glare, once again inching his jacket back to reveal the gun. Peter didn't comment as he stood up, put his coat on and stuffed his hands in his pockets. The bodyguard relaxed his expression as he looked at Peter with the slightest hint of sympathy.

"I don't know what you see in this guy to have let him out of jail, but let's hope he's as good as he says he is. If he doesn't find the painting, well, I can't guarantee your safety."

Peter wasn't sure how to take that comment and was mentally preparing for the inevitable capture. He hadn't come up with any good alternative strategies and he was really feeling naked and defenseless without his gun. It did seem strange though that both men seemed to prefer this low key style of intimidation with only the hints of force and not actually brandishing a weapon. Peter had a sudden inspiration. It might not change _his_ situation, but it just might give Neal the edge he needed. He turned quickly, taking his hands out of his pockets. Before the bodyguard could reach him, Peter grabbed one of Neal's hands with both of his own.

"Think about what you're doing, Neal. I trust you to do what's right."

Neal almost responded with a bitter derogatory comment, in keeping with his double-crossing character, when Neal felt Peter press keys into his hand. He looked into Peter's eyes and was profoundly relieved to see confidence, as opposed to fear, had taken up residence there. Neal looked back and tried to convey the same confidence that he wouldn't let Peter down - no matter what happened.

A moment later, the bodyguard pulled Peter's hands away. Neal quickly closed his to conceal the keys and watched helplessly as the bodyguard grabbed Peter's wrist and led him toward the door; the few occupants of the café never even noticing what had happened.

The other man finally relinquished his grip on the coffee mug and set it down on the small table next to the chair. He slowly reached into his jacket pocket with his other hand raised to show Neal he wasn't going for a gun. His hand reappeared with what Neal presumed was a burner phone.

"Use speed dial number 1 when you find the painting. You have until noon tomorrow."

Neal watched as the man left and slid the burner phone in his pocket. He pulled out his own cell phone and dialed Jones.


	18. Chapter 18

**Unintended Consequences**

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

_"Use speed dial number 1 when you find the painting. You have until noon tomorrow."_

_Neal watched as the man left and slid the burner phone in his pocket. He pulled out his own cell phone and dialed Jones._

**Chapter 18**

"What's up Neal?"

Jones was a little preoccupied searching to really give Neal his full attention. He was sure the consultant was simply calling to annoy him about something unimportant.

"Jones, I need to know where you are. I need your help."

Jones wondered what kind of con Neal was pulling this time and if it was going to be a practical joke that Neal was planning to pull on Peter. Jones didn't mind helping, but didn't Neal realize they were still in the middle of trying to solve this case and now was not the time for practical jokes?

"I'm at one of the storage facilities that Frank rented under an alias with a couple other agents. Grace signed some papers allowing us access. We got here not too long ago. We had checked out a couple other places first; so far we haven't found anything yet."

"Tell me where you are. I need to help."

Neal sounded a bit impatient, if not serious; definitely not the teasing tone that Jones had been initially expecting.

"Okay. It's a place called Sunny's Storage Rentals on 8th. There's a guy behind the counter named Hank. Show him your badge and tell him you're with us. Ask him for directions how to get to the unit, but whatever you do, _do not_ accept a ride from him. You're far better off walking. Understand?"

"Sure, whatever. I don't mind walking."

"You won't regret it. Now tell me what's so urgent. Is Peter coming too? I haven't been able to get a hold of him because he misplaced his cell phone."

"Peter's been kidnapped, Jones. They somehow tracked us and they said they knew where Grace was in case we didn't cooperate. I have until noon tomorrow to find this painting by Vermeer and give it to them or something bad is going to happen. They didn't specify exactly what."

"Neal, you know we can't just hand over the painting to thieves even _if_ we find it _and_ even _if_ Peter's life is at stake. There are rules and procedures that we follow as FBI Agents and handing over a valuable work of art in return for an agent is not one of them. It won't happen and Peter knows that too."

"Jones, this is _Peter_ we are talking about, not just any agent! We have to get him back or they will kill him. The bodyguard was armed and he didn't look afraid to use it. What will Grace think if we let Peter die when it could have been prevented?"

"I hate to break this to you, Neal, but Grace may not have that much time either."

"What? What happened? "

Jones noticed that Neal's tone had turned from impatient to almost panicked; not the smooth, suave, confident tone he normally had. Jones realized that Neal had no idea what had been transpiring with Grace.

"We were transporting her and someone must have been tracking us as well. She was hit by a sniper. She should be in surgery right now, but I don't know if she's going to make it. It looked pretty bad. Diana was completely covered in Grace's blood when I left them at the hospital."

"No."

It came out of Neal's throat as a mere whisper. Jones barely heard it, but understood the shock that it brought.

"We will find the people that did this, Neal. We have to stop this before it gets worse, but we have to do this the right way, Neal. We can't just give them the painting."

"I hate policy and procedure. People's lives are at stake here and all you care about is the rule book."

Neal hung up the phone abruptly, not caring if Jones thought he was being rude. Neal was starting to feel sick all over again, both physically and mentally. Everything he had done up to this point was now completely useless, and to make matters worse now Peter was in danger as well. Grace was going to die and it was going to be his fault. Diana didn't deserve to have Grace's blood on her hands, he did. It was his fault. Blood always symbolized someone's sacrifice. Why did it have to be Grace? Neal thought back to something that Peter had said before he was taken; could it really have been just a few minutes ago? They had been calmly sipping coffee and eating their scones; not knowing their world was about to be thrown into chaos again. _"I am offering you mercy because I know what you did. I heard your explanation and I am choosing to forgive you."_ Neal wondered if Peter would still be able to forgive him if Grace died or if Neal couldn't rescue him. _"I know what you did and I love you __anyway__."_ How could Peter believe that? Neal knew he had really screwed this up by not letting Peter in at the beginning and now Peter and Grace were both in danger. Neal knew he didn't deserve mercy from Peter for any of his 'alleged' crimes and he didn't deserve Grace as a friend.

Mercy…Grace…strange how they seemed to fit together so perfectly. Mercy…Grace… Clemency…Pardon…all synonyms…and all completely relevant to an ex-con trying to do what was right. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Neal was getting goose bumps just thinking about it, but he was now certain that no matter what he had done in the past, he could still make things right and he was willing to do _anything_ to ensure Peter and Grace would be safe. He just wasn't going to tell Jones that.

##

Diana was sitting in the waiting room still waiting to hear any updates on Grace. She had been able to wash most of the blood off her hands, but there was always some that just didn't want to wash away. She pulled out her phone, relieved to see that it had been spared in the blood bath and seemed to be fully functional. She dialed Peter's home number to update him on what happened and to see if he wanted Jones to do anything further with the search. She hadn't heard back yet from Jones, so she assumed the search of the storage lockers had not yet been successful. Elle picked up on the third ring.

"Diana. I'm so glad you called. Have you heard from Peter?"

Elle sounded hopeful; anxiously waiting for news on Neal and Peter, and hoped that they had checked in with Diana.

"No, actually, I was calling to talk to him. Jones said Peter had misplaced his cell phone so I should try your home number. He's not there?"

"No. I'm actually quite worried. He and Neal had an argument and Neal left without his jacket. I told Peter to go out and find him before he froze, but he and Neal have never made it back. I don't know where they could have gone."

Diana suddenly realized maybe Grace wasn't the only target; maybe Frank's associates were coming after Peter and Neal as well. Diana suddenly remembered the flowers that had been delivered to the Burke's with the sinister message; would Elizabeth be in danger as well?

"Elizabeth, is there anyone there at the house with you?"

"No, Mozzie left a little while ago, he was also concerned that Peter and Neal never came back, so he left to do…well, I guess whatever he does."

"I need you to take a cab to the Mount Sinai Medical Center. It's at One Gustave L. Levy Place. I'm here with Grace. I don't want you to stay in the house by yourself; it's too dangerous. Leave Peter a note explaining that you're with me, but don't mention the location in case someone else sees the note. I want you here as soon as possible. I'll explain more when you get here."

"Ok. Does this still have something to do with the painting?"

"Elle, I really just need you to get in a cab as soon as possible. We can discuss it when you get here, Ok?"

"Ok. I'm on my way."

Elle sighed as she hung up the phone wishing her life wasn't quite so interesting; but what could she expect. She was after all married to an FBI Agent who had an ex-con for a partner. It should be expected that trouble would follow them wherever they went.

##

Neal grasped Peter's keys tightly as he hurried out of the coffee shop and unlocked the Taurus. He drove carefully over to June's mansion not wanting to break any speed limits or traffic laws. There was no way he wanted to get pulled over in Peter's Taurus; too many things were at stake.

Neal ran up to his apartment still feeling the stiffness of his ribs, but the coffee and adrenaline pulsating through his veins helped diminish the pain. He decided to quickly change into something more comfortable and much warmer for his foray into the storage rental complex. Neal also grabbed a padded messenger bag that he used for carrying tools of his trade. It also had a false bottom compartment that had proved very useful several times in the past.

Neal was not about to let something as simple as chain of evidence get in the way of saving Peter's life. As much as he really was fascinated by the Gardner museum robbery, the thieves had really angered him when they had gone after Peter and Grace, and Neal was not about to stop until they had been taken down; regardless of whether anyone else would help him or not. He thought about using his forgery, but he knew the Feds would authenticate it and know it wasn't real. He needed to find something solid enough that would convict Frank's associates and send them to prison for a very long time. This, after all, was the deal he made with Peter; helping Peter catch the toughest and most elusive criminals. He knew Peter was trusting him, and he wasn't about to let Jones get in his way.


	19. Chapter 19

**Unintended Consequences**

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Hey everyone, I hope you are continuing to enjoy the story, please leave me a review and let me know what you think! Reviews make my day!

_[Neal] needed to find something solid enough that would convict Frank's associates and send them to prison for a very long time. This, after all, was the deal he made with Peter; helping Peter catch the toughest and most elusive criminals. He knew Peter was trusting him, and he wasn't about to let Jones get in his way. _

**Chapter 19**

Neal had changed clothes and put a few essential tools along with some latex gloves in his bag. He briefly thought about grabbing his beloved fedora, but realized the storage shed would more than likely be grimy and dusty, and the fedora did not deserve that kind of treatment. He grabbed the messenger bag and headed down the stairs at June's. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for Sunny's Storage Rentals before he placed a call to Elle at home. Neal let the phone ring several times, but didn't want to leave a message. He wondered briefly where she was as he terminated the call. He thought for a few seconds and then dialed another number.  
"Moz? Hey, I need a small favor."  
"Friendship is an arrangement by which we undertake to exchange small favors for big ones."  
"Charles de Montesquieu? Come on Moz, is that what you really think I'm doing here?"  
"Yes."  
"Ok. You win. This probably will turn into a big favor, but I need help with the small one first."  
"And how can I be of service to you, my _friend_?"

Mozzie stressed the word friend enough so he knew Neal would pick up on it.

"I need you to get the painting I did from the Suit's house. That's where it ended up right?"  
"Yeah, unless the Suit confiscated it for evidence; it should be there."  
"Yeah, about that, Moz, Peter was kidnapped and I need your help. I need to..."  
"No need for more information, I am more than willing to swap the paintings for you. I'd love to see their faces when they realize it's a fake."  
Neal silently chuckled. That was not actually the plan he was working on, but Moz didn't need to know that as long as he was willing to help Neal pull off this caper.  
"Thanks, Moz, I owe you one. Could you get a hold of Alex for me? This is definitely going to be a 3-person operation. I'll need a couple hours. Could we meet back at my place?"  
"Will do."  
The cab pulled up in front of Sunny's, Neal paid the driver, and walked toward the entrance. Neal entered the building, approached the heavy-set man whose faded name tag read "Hank" and flashed his consultant ID.  
"I'm here to see the FBI guys that came in earlier."  
"Oh, yeah, nice guys. They seemed to be in a hurry though, so I gave them a lift. I can take you out there."  
Remembering Jones' warning, Neal politely declined.  
"If you could just give me directions, that would be great."  
"It's down three rows and then right; all the way to the end."

Jones looked up to see Neal approaching carrying a messenger bag.  
"What are you carrying?"  
"Come on man, you know I don't like guns."  
"I just asked what you were carrying in a bag like that, there's no need to be defensive. It's not like we need tools for breaking and entering. We do have permission to be here."

Neal adopted a more patronizing tone.

"Jones, for a Harvard educated man such as yourself, you should know it never hurts to be prepared. There might be a lock that needs to be picked or something. I also brought gloves so that I'm not accidentally charged with anything from having touched something in here that might be illegal or stolen."

Jones didn't look like he believed Neal, and he definitely didn't like Neal's tone, so he decided to pre-emptively give Neal some boundaries before he could pull any scams and get Jones in trouble with Peter or Hughes.

"Let's set a few ground rules here, Neal. Knowing your reputation, I want to search your bag before and after. Just to make sure you don't pawn off anything you may be trying to hide and make it look like Frank had it, or take off with anything valuable that Frank might have had. I'm sure this is probably valuable plunder to you. You know, one man's trash is another man's treasure."

Neal simply opened the bag, not at all concerned that Jones would find anything out of the ordinary.

"Knock yourself out. I have nothing to hide, at least not this time."

Neal flashed his mega-watt smile, as if daring Jones to find illegal contraband on his person. Jones looked in the bag and was surprised to find just a few tools and some latex gloves.

"Ok. You can get started. There really isn't a whole lot left to search; just this stack of boxes on this wall over here. Otherwise it's just random old dusty furniture."

"I'm just here to help, Jones. Many hands make light work."

Jones looked at Neal suspiciously, but didn't make a comment as he started to rifle through another box. The other two FBI Agents that Neal surmised were rookies due to their youthful appearance and exuberance had arrived earlier with Jones and were sorting through several other boxes on the other side of the storage unit. They didn't bother to acknowledge Neal's presence.

Neal pulled out a pair of the latex gloves and slipped them on as he wandered around the large storage unit, randomly wiping his fingers in the thick dust. If I were a Vermeer painting, where would Frank hide me? The light bulb went on in Neal's head. Random old dusty furniture Jones had said…that would be perfect.

##

Diana glanced up as Elizabeth entered Grace's room. Elizabeth quietly walked over to Diana, motioning at Grace.

"How is she doing?"

"Well, if you don't count feeling like I was hit by a Mac truck, then I'm great."

Elle looked up in surprise, not expecting Grace to be awake, much less talking.

Diana stood up, deciding to let them have a few moments alone.

"I'm going to run down to the cafeteria and grab some coffee; I'll be just outside if you need anything."

"Thanks, Diana."

Elle turned away as Diana left, walked over to the bed and reached for one of Grace's hands.

"I'm Elizabeth, Peter's wife. I'm glad to finally meet you. I can't say I've heard much about you, but I'm glad you're feeling better."

"The doctor said it looked much worse than it was. It hit my shoulder, but they seemed to patch me up just fine. Is Peter with you? I thought he was going home to see you."

"He and Neal are still working on the case."

"Neal? I thought…I thought Peter shot Neal. I thought Neal was dead."

"Dead? Oh my goodness, Grace, no, he's not dead. Neal was wearing a bullet proof vest, although Peter didn't know that at the time. Neal is fine. He just had a few minor bruises; nothing to worry about. He and Peter are going to find out who did this; they will. They are both very good at what they do; they just usually disagree on how to get there."

"I've tried to follow Peter's career, but Frank found out and was incredibly mad. It never once occurred to me that he might be jealous. Even the fights with Peter years ago, they all seem so insignificant now, so petty."

"That's what happens when we get older, hopefully we become wiser and we are able to look back and reflect on what we can do better in the future."

"You are a remarkable woman, Elizabeth. I can see why Peter married you."

##

In the previous hour, Neal had examined all the furniture and even found a few smaller works of art that he recognized and knew were stolen. He picked them up and brought them over to the two rookie FBI Agents who had been ignoring him earlier. He would have alerted Jones, but Neal decided it would be a good thing to establish right off the bat with the rookies that he was Agent Burke's consultant and deserved a certain amount of attention and would hopefully gain some respect. Neal walked forward and extended his right hand holding the two paintings with his left.

"Hey, guys, my name is Neal Caffrey, I'm an art consultant for Agent Peter Burke. You may have heard of him."

Neal watched and waited for the response. He saw the moment the name clicked and they both looked at him with big eyes. The taller of the two couldn't resist elbowing the other, commenting.

"You're Peter Burke's consultant? We've heard all about you."

"I see my reputation precedes me. I hope it's nothing too scary, you know how rumors start. You can never believe everything you hear."

Neal flashed a conspiratorial grin specifically designed to intimidate the rookies. From the looks on their faces, Neal was certain he had. He held out the paintings, switching one over to his right hand and offering one to each.

"Anyway, I came over here because I found something you might be interested in. I'm pretty sure these two pieces are on your watch list for stolen art. I'd bag them and tag them if I were you before Jones gets wind of this. I'm sure even Hughes will be impressed."

The two FBI Agents were in a tizzy about how important it would be to impress Hughes and how proud he would be when he saw the art work _they_ had found. They each took the painting Neal handed them and were each carefully wrapping it and sealing it in a plastic bag; reminding each other about the importance of labeling them to preserve the all important chain-of-evidence concept. Neal was trying to stifle a laugh at their enthusiastic response. He wondered how long it would take to break them in and lose that enthusiastic spirit. For now at least, he was glad they were distracted.

Neal had been waiting for an opportunity to check out a few specific furniture pieces in more detail, away from prying eyes, when Jones' phone rang. Neal saw him step outside the storage unit to take the call. Neal could hear a few words and phrases; it sounded like he was talking to Diana about Grace. It sounded like Grace would be ok. Neal breathed a sigh of relief; one less thing for him to worry about.

Sensing his opportunity to investigate some specific pieces of furniture more thoroughly while the rookies were distracted and Jones was on the phone, Neal quietly slipped back over to an old dresser in the far corner of the storage shed. There were random old pieces of furniture covered in cobwebs and boxes everywhere, so the dresser didn't look at all out of place. When he first had quickly rummaged through the drawers, he had noticed that the bottom drawer sounded different than the others, but he didn't want to draw any special attention to it at the time. He quickly knelt down and withdrew a metal file from his bag and carefully inserted it into the corner of the drawer. He slowly pulled up on the cheap plywood revealing another compartment below where a dusty piece of canvas was resting. Neal quickly looked over his shoulder and could see the rookies still discussing who was going to tell Hughes what and who was going to get the credit; even though neither of them had actually found either of the paintings. Neal smiled, that was definitely one of the problems with being a forger. Unless you wanted to get caught by signing your work, you could almost never claim credit for your actual work because it was always a reproduction and never an original. Refocusing on the task at hand, Neal carefully slipped the canvas out to reveal a very dirty and dusty portrait of a musical scene painted long ago by Johannes Vermeer. Neal could hardly contain his excitement as he quickly rolled the canvas up and slipped it into the secret compartment at the bottom of the bag; the magnetic clasp sealing it shut; leaving no evidence of buttons or zippers. Neal quickly shut the drawer and stood up just before Jones re-entered the storage locker. Jones spotted Neal and made his way to the back.

"Find anything Neal?"

"Actually, yes. I gave your two rookie agent friends some paintings that I know are on the art registry list as being stolen. Obviously, you'd have to have them tested, but they look like they could be originals to me. I have to laugh though, I find the paintings and your rookie friends are out there congratulating themselves on a job well done. I should at least be congratulated for not sneaking them out myself."

"You sure there aren't more in your bag?"

Neal refused to dignify Jones' comment with a response, and Jones had paused for just a second, still processing Neal's earlier comment.

"How did you know they were rookies?"

"Are you really serious, Jones? Come on, it's pathetically obvious."

"No it's not. Never mind. I think we've covered everything, are you ready to go?"

"I'd hate to overstay my welcome. Here's my bag; be my guest. Check away."

Neal handed over the bag to Jones, completely assured of the security of the hidden compartment and knowing that the added weight from the canvas was fairly nominal; it wasn't like Jones had weighed the bag on the way in.

Jones wasn't sure what to make of Neal. He had honestly thought Neal would put up more resistance against Jones searching his things; grumbling about his privacy rights being violated or some such things…as if a convicted criminal should have any anyway.

Jones looked through the bag and didn't see anything new or absent to indicate Neal was taking anything away from the scene. Jones handed the bag back to Neal. He was impressed, but still feeling that this was too easy. After all, it had taken Peter three years of chasing Neal to finally catch him, and it had _never_ been this easy. He did give Neal an apologetic glance though and attempted to apologize for his lack of trust.

"I'm sorry I doubted you, Neal. Old habits die hard I guess; maybe I should follow Peter's lead and trust you a bit more. After all, you _have_ been a huge help to the department. I'm also impressed that you just let my fellow rookie agents, have the paintings. No questions asked."

"Beginner's luck?"

Jones shot Neal a look that expressed total disbelief.

"Ok. Fine. Just before Peter was taken, he told me to do the right thing. Turning over those paintings was the right thing to do, Jones. Besides, I don't need the heat. I only want to help Peter and Grace right now. I did overhear a few words while you were on the phone. Is Grace going to be ok?"

"Yes, actually. She's out of surgery and she should be fine. She lost a lot of blood, but it didn't hit anything vital, so she should have no problems recovering. Diana said Elle was with her at the hospital as well."

"Ok. Thanks, Jones."

Neal was grateful that Elle was at least safe with Diana at the hospital; another weight that seemed to be lifted off his shoulders. Now he just had to rescue Peter. Neal started to walk out of the storage unit, but Jones stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and turned Neal slightly to face him.

"I'm sorry we didn't find what we were really looking for. Maybe Frank never had it to begin with."

"I guess we'll never know, Jones. It doesn't do me much good though. What am I going to tell the kidnappers? I'm sure they'll be very understanding about this whole mix up."

"If there's anyone that can charm them, it's you Caffrey. Get Peter back. We're all counting on you."

"Thanks, I guess. I do appreciate the compliment."

"Did you want a ride back to headquarters?"

"Oh, no thanks. I'm beat. I think I'll head back to June's, if you don't mind. I need to be fresh for the meeting tomorrow."

"Ok. Call me if you need back up or anything."

Neal turned and started the walk back to the front of the complex, pulling out his phone to call for a cab. As he closed the phone, he stopped for just a minute and finally allowed himself to breathe deeply before he resumed his walking pace. He had to admit, he _was_ tempted to keep the painting. He had the original Vermeer painting of _The Concert_; the painting that had been lost for 20 years and it was his, _all his_. _He_ had found it when no one else could. Neal congratulated himself on being a master thief, yet again. Who said he had lost his touch? Seconds later though, he was shocked when he realized that somewhere along the line his motives had changed; when had this happened? He realized he had no desire to fence the painting and make a monetary fortune anymore. Worse yet, this time he really just wanted to save Peter and take down the scoundrels that had kidnapped him and hurt Grace. What kind of con man had he become? When had he developed a conscience? Neal knew that the choice was his. He had been given another opportunity to do the right thing or the wrong thing; Peter trusted him to do the right thing. _Peter trusted him_. No one had _ever_ trusted him before and now it was Peter's life that was at stake if he made the wrong decision.

##

Mozzie rang the doorbell at the Burke's home. He waited for a minute or two, but no one came to the door. Neal hadn't indicated if he thought Mrs. Suit would be home, but it was getting near dinner time, so she should be. Still not getting a response, Mozzie pulled out his tool set and had the lock picked in less than a minute. He quietly stepped into the house, hoping Satch was not in attack mode.

"Mrs. Suit? It's Moz. Neal sent me."

Moz waited for a few seconds, but still didn't hear a response. She must not be home. Moz took a few more steps into the home and saw the painting still setting near the fireplace. He carefully pulled out Neal's forgery of _The Concert_ from the velvet covering and rolled it up and inserted it into a black tube Neal had given him. The big bouquet of flowers that Elle had signed for, along with the painting, was still sitting on the dining room table. Mozzie carefully avoided them; convinced someone had probably sprayed them with a chemical to congeal all of his brain cells. He had already been exposed to it once today; twice was just too much. Mozzie was about to leave when he heard the front door jiggle. He set the tube down by the wall and flattened himself against the nearby bookshelf so that he couldn't be seen from the front door. Mozzie heard footsteps approaching as the intruder slowly entered as if they were intently looking for something. The steps were much too heavy to be a woman's, so it couldn't possibly be Elle. Mozzie looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon; and the only viable option seemed to be the very flower vase Mozzie had been desperately trying to avoid. As much as he was convinced the flowers were somehow poisoned, he realized he didn't have a better idea, and had no time to look for anything else. He quietly tiptoed back to the table to grab the vase, and then edged back to the bookshelf to wait for the intruder to pass in front of him. Seconds later, Mozzie swung the vase as hard as he could, smashing the ceramic structure into the base of the intruder's skull. The now limp body dropped instantly, the gun with an attached silencer dropping from the intruder's hand and clattering to the ground. Shards of ceramic pieces, water and flowers scattered everywhere. Mozzie briefly hoped that Elle wouldn't be too upset at the mess as he reached for his cell phone and hit the speed dial number for Neal.

"Hey, Moz. I'm on my way back to my place. Where are you?"

Mozzie ignored his question, and instead issued a command in a rather stern voice that Neal was not used to hearing from him.

"I need Junior Suit at Suit's place. NOW! There's an intruder. I think they were trying to get Mrs. Suit. I hit him with a vase, but I'm not sure how long he'll be out. I've only seen one so far, but there could be others."

"Ok. Just breathe, Moz. I just left Jones, but I'll call him right away. Hang tight."

Mozzie hung up the phone and hurried through the swinging door into the kitchen. He located a drawer of odds and ends and hurriedly dug through it until he found a roll of gray tape. Walking back out to the dining room, he quickly bound the intruder's hands and feet hoping to at least immobilize the intruder until Junior Suit showed up with backup. Mozzie waited until he finally heard the sirens, grateful the intruder was still out, before he quickly let himself out the back door, not about to be caught with Neal's forgery in his sweaty hands.

##

Neal opened his apartment door to find Alex standing there and stepped aside to let her in.

"So, Mozzie tells me you need help with a con and that somehow Peter was kidnapped? What's in it for me?"

"Hello to you too, Alex."

"I don't have time for petty chit chat, Neal; I do have things I could be doing. What's the take? This had better be good. I already gave up the music box for you."

"A forged copy of Vermeer's _The Concert."_

Alex laughed out loud, placing her hands on her hips in a defiant posture; her body language screaming that she definitely did not believe Neal.

"I help you with this, and I get a copy of Vermeer's _The Concert_? Did I just hear that correctly?"

Neal smiled his mega-watt smile trying to convince Alex to go along with his caper as he shrugged, palms upturned.

"What can I say? Small favor; big reward. It should at least help pay the bills. Fence it internationally, I don't care, but we're going to nail the thieves that shot Grace and kidnapped Peter."

"Ok. I'm in. What do I have to do?"


	20. Chapter 20

Unintended Consequences

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

"_Small favor, big reward. It should help pay the bills. Fence it internationally, I don't care. We're going to nail the thieves that shot Grace and kidnapped Peter."_

"_What do I have to do?"_

Chapter 20

Neal made the call from the burner phone asking Frank's associates to meet at the edge of Central Park at noon. He didn't want to be in a throng of people, but he wanted enough foot traffic so that he would be able to disappear if necessary. He also needed whatever method of transportation the thieves were using nearby. Neal expected a limo or something similar; they had such huge egos.

Neal was leaning against a lamp post holding a black tube large enough to hold the rolled up painting when a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up and double parked. Neal shifted so that he was standing tall, and then took a couple confident steps toward the Lincoln. The driver's door opened, and Neal recognized the bodyguard from the coffee shop.

The bodyguard moved a couple steps to open the back door and assisted Peter out of the back of the Lincoln, gripping his upper arm firmly. Neal noticed that Peter's hands were cuffed in front of him and his eyes were bloodshot; probably due to lack of sleep over the past couple days. Neal felt a twinge of guilt for his own decent night's sleep. Despite everything that had happened over the 48 hours, Neal sincerely hoped that Peter would trust him for just a little while longer.

Neal also noticed that the coffee-loving criminal who still remained nameless had gotten out of the other side of the Lincoln and was holding a venti size Starbucks drink. Neal chuckled quietly wondering if there was any blood in the man's system or if it had all been taken over by caffeine. The man took a long sip and finally spoke.

"All you need to do is give me the painting and my friend here will release Agent Burke."

Neal hesitated for a few seconds as if he wasn't sure he wanted to give up the painting in return for Peter. Peter was sure this was an act but almost wished Neal was a little less convincing. What if Neal decided not to hand over his forgery? The tube seemed to be trembling in his hands; maybe Neal had grown really attached to his forgery and didn't want to give it up.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Neal?"

Neal glared at Peter as if he had just asked a really stupid question and retorted sarcastically.

"No, I'm not sure Peter. If _you_ had a multi-million dollar painting and _you_ were a thief, what would _you_ do?"

Peter didn't respond hoping it was meant as a rhetorical question because he wasn't sure he even had a good answer. What _would_ he do? Hearing no immediate response, Neal continued.

"You have no idea how tempting it is to run and desert you as revenge for catching me in the first place."

Peter could sense that Neal was stalling, wasting precious time to distract the thieves from whatever side angle Neal was playing. Peter wasn't sure what Neal was up to, but he just couldn't see Neal actually giving up the real Vermeer painting and letting the thieves walk away. No, there was something more in play here; fortunately, it didn't take long for him to find out.

Neal had taken a few steps closer to Peter, still debating about handing over the painting, when Peter saw a beautiful woman with long brown hair walking along the sidewalk coming up behind Neal and swinging a large purse. She was talking non-stop on her cell phone and wasn't watching where she was walking. Peter recognized her right away, but kept silent as she _accidentally_ walked straight into the bodyguard. Her purse went flying out of her hand; the contents spilling all over the ground. The bodyguard let go of Peter's arm trying to maintain his own balance. Alex looked up horrified and snapped her phone shut, cutting off whoever was on the other end of the line. The venti-sized coffee tilted dangerously in the other thief's hand as he reached out his other hand to grab Peter before he could escape. The bodyguard looked like he was about to draw his gun, when Neal reached out and grabbed Alex's arm.

"You really need to watch where you're walking Miss. These streets can be dangerous."

"Dangerous? The streets aren't dangerous, it's the people just standing in the middle of the sidewalk that are dangerous! He was quite obviously obstructing my path."

"I'm sure he's sorry. At least let me help you pick up your things."

Alex looked alarmed as Neal shifted the tube under his arm and bent down to pick up some of the scattered items from her purse.

"Don't touch my things! Who do you think you are?"

Neal saw an opportunity to send a message to Peter; hoping Peter was alert enough to catch it.

"You know, Miss, as Kong Fu Zi says 'A gentleman would be ashamed should his deeds not match his words.' I'd hate for someone to think that a gentleman such as myself would say something and then not follow through on it. Please, at least let me assist you in gathering your things."

Neal slyly looked over at the thieves still standing there looking at the scene Alex was making like they were in shock. Neal silently hoped Peter had gotten the message to stay calm and let him handle things; that he was going to do whatever it took to make sure Peter was safe. Neal also breathed a quick prayer of thanks as he suddenly realized that Alex had chosen to run into the bodyguard instead of the coffee guy; he really didn't need hot coffee spilled all over him to add to the pleasures of the day. Neal finally looked up and focused a piercing gaze directly at the bodyguard.

"I can't believe you wouldn't even try to help a lady with her things even if she did accidentally run into you. How did your parents raise you anyway?"

Neal didn't wait for an answer, but concentrated on picking up some lipstick and a compact that had fallen out and placed them back in Alex's purse, looking curiously at it.

"How much stuff do you keep in this purse anyway?"

"You never know when you might need something. Life has taught me that, more so than any formal education."

Neal gave a slight chuckle as if he found her comment amusing.

"Locke would probably agree with you. He said 'Education begins the gentleman, but reading, good company and reflection must finish him'."

Alex stuck out her hand to thank him for his help.

"Well, it was certainly nice to meet an educated gentleman such as yourself. I hope that I wasn't too much trouble."

Neal reached out to shake her hand as well. Alex pulled back and closed her hand after feeling a key pressing into her palm. She breathed a sigh of relief that so far Neal had stuck to their bargain; now she just had to get out of here without raising suspicion and collect her prize from the storage locker.

Peter, still amazed at the distraction Neal and Alex were creating, heard a soft click and saw a figure out of the corner of his eye moving away from the opposite side of the Lincoln. He was certain no one else had heard it as the bodyguard and the coffee-loving criminal were still distracted by Neal and Alex. Peter didn't move his head for fear of drawing attention away, but he could have sworn he saw a bald head retreating quickly but quietly. He wondered what the little guy could possibly be doing here, but he already knew it probably wasn't good. He wasn't sure if Neal had planned the distraction to get the bodyguard to let go of him or if it had something to do with the little guy, maybe it was both.

Peter refocused on the scene in front of him as Alex stuffed the last item in her purse. Neal offered her a hand to stand up, as she politely thanked him.

"Have a good day miss. Try to be a bit more careful next time and watch where you're walking."

Alex looked a bit ashamed and flushed slightly. She wasn't sure what Neal had been planning, but she hoped that somehow it helped Peter. He had been nice to her in the past, and getting a copy of Vermeer's _The Concert_ for her troubles was like icing on the cake. She turned to the bodyguard.

"I am sorry, sir, I realize it wasn't entirely your fault. Please accept my apologies."

She offered her hand to shake his, and while his attention was on her right hand, she deftly used her left to slip a different key into his jacket pocket. The Spanish silver from the shipwreck was getting too hot to handle, and she didn't need more Fed's breathing down her neck. She knew Peter knew it was her and this was the perfect opportunity to take the bull's eye off her back. It was time for her to delve into something new. Alex turned around, letting go of the bodyguards hand and walked away as quickly as she had come.

The thief with the coffee raised the cup almost as if to salute Neal for his conduct with the lady, while maintaining his grip on Peter's arm.

"Well, now, if you are the gentleman you say you are, perhaps we can finish this little exchange. You can give me the painting I asked for and I can make good on my word to return Agent Burke to you safe and unharmed."

Neal just smiled.

"Oh, so now you want to be a gentleman? I don't thinking kidnapping people would exactly qualify as a gentlemanly trait, but perhaps I can give you some pointers."

"I don't need your advice. I just want the painting; I thought you were the one that wanted to pick my brain."

"Touche."

The man acknowledged Neal's comment by simply raising his coffee cup and elevating his nose slightly giving off an air of superiority.

"Now…you've stalled long enough…just hand over the painting. I'm beginning to wonder if you even want Agent Burke back. This could be the end of a beautiful partnership."

Neal glared as he took a step forward and then another gripping the tube tightly, as if the whole process was extremely painful for him. Peter really hoped that Neal wasn't overselling it. If either of the thieves caught on this was a con, as Peter was sure it was, he might never get home to Elle or rebuild his relationship with Grace.

It suddenly occurred to Peter that the thug with the coffee might not trust a multi-million dollar painting in the hands of his bodyguard. Unfortunately, with the coffee in one hand and gripping Peter's arm with the other, he didn't have a free hand to take the painting from Neal. Peter knew he'd just have to wait for the opportunity and duck if necessary. He didn't doubt that the bodyguard would use his weapon if something were to happen.

"You know, you really aren't much for small talk are…"

Neal was about to finish with 'you' when he was cut off.

"Freeze, FBI."

Peter looked over at Neal, and was startled to see a look of panic flash quickly in Neal's eyes before disappearing. This was apparently _not_ part of his plan. Peter also noted that the thief stopped mid swallow and almost choked, while the bodyguard moved his hand, ready to draw. However, it seemed to be a lone FBI agent with a gun that had come up behind Neal; maybe there was no need to panic just yet.

"Hands up, Caffrey. Hand over the painting."

Neal didn't turn around; he just put up his hands, not letting go of the black tube.

"Jones, how nice of you to come. I'm so glad you tracked my anklet."

"You won't be when I arrest you for possession of the stolen Vermeer."

Neal just started laughing.


	21. Chapter 21

**Unintended Consequences**

Disclaimer: _White Collar _is owned by Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed the story so far, I'm getting more and more loose ends tied up. I've also started watching another USA show _Fairly Legal_, and I think some of Kate's negotiating skills snuck in here. (not to be confused with Neal's lost love; this is a different Kate) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for sticking with me!

"_Hands up, Caffrey. Hand over the painting."_

_Neal didn't turn around; he just put up his hands, not letting go of the black tube._

"_Jones, how nice of you to come. I'm so glad you tracked my anklet."_

"_You won't be when I arrest you for possession of the stolen Vermeer."_

_Neal just started laughing._

**Chapter 21**

"What's so funny, Neal?"

"Afraid you were missing out on the action? Wanted to see for yourself that Peter was ok? Maybe you just didn't trust me to get Peter back, right?"

"I meant do it _legally_, Caffrey. I told you there are certain rules and regulations we follow. Stealing a valuable painting under the nose of an FBI Agent to exchange it for another FBI Agent is _not_ one of them!"

Neal was about to reply when the bodyguard and the thief started laughing at him.

"Having a bit of trouble with the Fed there, son? I thought you were working for them. I guess they're not convinced you're on their side."

Jones apparently didn't think that was funny, because he responded in a harsh tone.

"That's none of your business. Neal. The painting. _Now_."

Neal didn't move, but the thief with the coffee did, forcing Peter in front of him as a shield as the bodyguard moved quickly to Peter's side and pointed the gun at his head.

"Give him the painting and your Fed friend gets a bullet in the skull."

Neal smiled patronizingly trying to avoid a showdown. He was desperately hoping that Jones wouldn't try to play the hero, even though he was sure Jones probably wanted to shoot _him_ at this point. Neal kept his hands raised and turned slightly so he could see Jones, but still see the bodyguard's weapon out of the corner of his eye.

"I've never been one to actually play by the rules; that does tend to make some enemies, but I'm sure we can come to a resolution here where both parties can win."

"Not possible. _We_ want the painting, _now_!"

The thief's voice rose as he gestured with the coffee cup; still maintaining a tight grip on Peter's arm with his other hand.

"We've waited 20 years for this and you had better believe that we're serious about getting it back."

"I didn't doubt that you weren't serious, but there's no need for yelling. I told you, we can come to a resolution."

"I don't…"

Neal held up his index finger to the thief, silently asking him to hold on for just a minute, and then turned to Jones.

"Jones…"

Jones, who was very upset with Neal at the moment, wouldn't let him finish.

"I will not negotiate with these thugs, Neal. Give me the painting _now_, or I _will_ shoot."

"Jones, my man, you don't want to do that, I'm not wearing a bullet proof vest. You shoot me and there will be mountains of paperwork to fill out, or so Peter tells me. You'll regret it until you're old and gray. Look at the bright side, you have the perfect opportunity here to earn yourself a gold star on your resume, but it also requires teamwork. I don't need you working against me here."

Neal was trying to buy some time; sure Jones would have never come alone. What had Jones been thinking? What was his plan? Why had he decided to follow Neal? Neal didn't have the answers to any of the questions, but it was a little too late for that anyway, since Jones was here now, already disrupting his plans. Although Neal couldn't see any of the FBI agents, he figured Jones had instructed them to move only on his signal. Neal wasn't sure if that was good or bad. How long could he stall before he came up with a better plan? Jones and the bodyguard were glaring at each other as if promoting the public policy strategy of mutually assured destruction. Trying to keep his tone light with his hands still raised, Neal nodded to the thief with the coffee.

"What kind of drink do you have there? Is that a Pike Place Roast or is it more like a Venti Nonfat Light Foam White Chocolate Mocha? I'm really not getting a good reading on that."

The thief got a good chuckle out of that one and smirked at Neal.

"You really like to hear yourself talk, don't you?"

"You don't know the half of it."

Neal was stunned to recognize the voice as he turned his head slightly to confirm that Peter had indeed decided to join the conversation; a risky move on Peter's part given the tense standoff situation and the fact that he was still being used as a human shield. Neal, however, was not going to give either of them the satisfaction of having the last word.

"You, with the unidentified coffee, I like to talk about as much as you like your daily shots of coffee. Do you have an IV hooked up somewhere? I'd hate to see how nice you'd be without your fix."

Not waiting for a reply, Neal shifted his attention to Peter.

"Peter, I am trying to save your life here, you could at least show some gratitude. Would you please tell Jones to stand down? He's going to get me killed."

"Jones, just hear what Neal has to say before you decide if you still want to put a well-deserved bullet in his thick skull."

Neal glared at Peter, not exactly what he wanted him to say, but it would have to do.

"Now, where were we?"

Neal looked over at the thief trying to gauge the level of his anger. Neal thought possibly he could push just a little farther without getting himself shot. Neal's expression seemed to convey peacefulness despite the tense situation.

"Oh, yes, I remember. The painting. I hate to be the one that points this out, but I think you have a problem. Your bodyguard here is intently focused on holding a gun on an FBI Agent, while another FBI Agent is pointing a gun at you. Now, I'm not going to put any money down on who will shoot first, but I'm inclined to give the painting to someone _not _holding a gun, because I detest guns. Unfortunately for _you, _you have your hands full with your precious coffee and a previously mentioned FBI Agent that you are using as a human shield while simultaneously being threatened by your bodyguard. Hmm. Does everyone have everything straight here, or should I diagram it for you? Maybe that would make it easier for me to decide who to give the painting to. So, anyone have any paper?"

Jones, still holding his gun steady and keeping his eyes on the bodyguard, took another step closer to Neal and then stopped, not sure what Neal was up to.

"Please, just shoot him."

Neal was a little surprised by Peter's comment and was trying to figure out the angle and if Peter had addressed his comment to Jones or the bodyguard. Neal wasn't sure who Peter wanted to shoot him; not that it really mattered if Peter wanted him dead anyway.

"Thanks for the confidence in me, Peter."

Neal wasn't sure if Peter was trying to distract the thief, Jones, or both. Either way, Jones was fixated on still getting Neal to give him the painting so he could arrest him.

"You're giving the painting to me now, Caffrey. No more talking; you're going back to prison along with these two thugs, for a very, very long time."

"I don't think so, Jones, but nice try."

Neal, realizing his time was up, waited a split second before he threw the black tube as high in the air as he could. The bodyguard leapt for it at the same time the thief with the coffee let go of Peter's arm to dive for it. Neal seized the opportunity and rushed forward, grabbing Peter, who was still handcuffed, and took off running into Central Park. The coffee cup, meanwhile, had gone flying out of the thief's hand and zeroed in on poor Jones who was still holding his gun and didn't get his hands up in time to protect his face. The lid came off on impact spraying the still warm white chocolate mocha all over his face and his clothes. Jones stumbled in the direction of the bodyguard, but realized he couldn't see very well because of the coffee dripping down his face. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve just in time to realize the bodyguard had rescued the tube and he and the thief - now sans coffee – were dashing toward the Lincoln. Reaching for his radio, Jones alerted the other FBI agents, who were assembled out of sight nearby, that the Lincoln needed to be stopped and the priceless Vermeer painting was in the possession of the criminals inside.

##

Neal finally slowed down when he noticed Peter was out of breath and having difficulty running with Neal still grasping his upper arm; Peter's hands still secured with handcuffs. Neal quickly pulled Peter behind some trees and pulled a paperclip out of his pocket.

"It looks like we're safe here for a little bit. No one is chasing us yet. Let me look at those handcuffs."

Still breathing heavily, Peter lifted his hands up and Neal had the handcuffs open within 10 seconds. Peter rubbed his wrists and looked warily around the side of the tree as if someone might still be after them.

"Why were we running?"

Neal looked over at Peter; a look of exasperation gracing his features.

"They had guns, Peter. I hate guns. Besides, the standoff wasn't going to last forever. Have you forgotten already? Jones was about to arrest _me_, so I felt obligated to give him a choice; the painting or me. I was _hoping_ he would choose the painting. He could just as easily have chased us."

Neal looked over at Peter to assure him it was a completely logical and rational viewpoint, and that Peter should have already figured it out. Peter just looked at him like he was crazy and couldn't resist a sarcastic comment.

"Of course, why didn't _I_ think of that? If I had guns pointed at me the _first_ thing I would think about is giving someone a choice whether or not to arrest me!"

"I didn't see _you_ coming up with any brilliant ideas! _You don't know the half of it?_ Really, Peter? You couldn't come up with anything better than that? I'm surprised the bodyguard didn't just shoot you for that comment. I thought you were on my side."

"I am on your side, Neal."

"It was _still_ a stupid comment."

"And you're clearly _still_ talking, so I think that supports _my_ argument."

"Are you keeping score now? Because for this con, I'd say it was Neal 1 and Peter 0."

"Don't flatter yourself, _Caffrey_."

"I can assure you, it's well deserved."

"Because you found the painting and were attempting to rescue Grace?"

"I thought that's what you hired me for, to catch the bad guys?"

"Here is what I don't understand. How could you just _throw_ the painting like that? You always tell me you have the utmost respect for art, even if it was a _copy_."

"Perception is reality, Peter. Don't believe everything you see."

"So, I _didn't_ just see you throw your rendition of Vermeer's painting in the air to rescue me and let the thieves escape with it?"

"I hate to burst your bubble, Peter, but no, I did not just throw a priceless Vermeer painting (mine or otherwise) in the air just to rescue you; although the thieves didn't know that, and apparently Jones didn't either. Although…can you imagine the look on Jones' face if he would have opened the tube and found it empty?

Neal started to chuckle, but then paused realizing Peter wasn't laughing. A concerned look crossed his face as he looked over at his friend.

"I'm worried about you, Peter, you don't look like you had much sleep last night. I don't think your keen agent senses are at the top of their game. Did you really think I was going to hand over my painting?"

Neal looked over at Peter and realized that Peter really did think he had handed over _his_ rendition of Vermeer's _The Concert_.

"You really did. You really thought I was going to hand over _my_ painting. How would that help our situation? I re-evaluated the situation. The FBI was obviously going to check the authenticity. They wouldn't be able to hold those goons for more than a day while waiting for the results to come back showing it was a copy."

"I thought the plan was just to rescue me. You bought enough seconds to distract them and rescue me. What more did you want?"

"Plans change. If I remember correctly, you told me '_Think about what you're doing, Neal. I trust you to do what's right.'_ I thought about it, and I decided I wanted justice; well, worse than I wanted revenge, because they didn't attack me personally. I wanted justice for you and Grace. I didn't want any possibility of them getting off on a technicality. The plan had to be foolproof."

"Foolproof, huh? I guess that explains why we are standing here arguing behind some trees in Central Park because we thought someone was chasing us!"

"Peter, there are always bumps in the best laid plans. The FBI should have had no problem stopping the Lincoln, and once they search the contents of the car, they'll find what they've been looking for. Solid evidence, case closed."

"And if someone would have let me in on their little rendezvous with Frank, we wouldn't have to worry if the FBI _actually has_ stopped this Lincoln, and this whole mess could have been avoided."

"If you want to get technical, I haven't forgotten that you shot me earlier."

"Oh for crying out loud, you were wearing a vest; stop whining."

"Stop whining? You're lucky I'm having an adrenaline rush or I'd really be yelling at you, because my ribs are still aching. I'm definitely going to need some aspirin once we get back to your place and my heart rate returns to normal. As for wearing a vest, yes, I was wearing a vest, but _you_ didn't know that at the time, you could have killed me and then who would have rescued you from Frank's _hospitable_ associates."

"I said I'm sorry!"

Peter stopped, realizing he had said that much louder and sharper than he intended. He continued in a more low-key, controlled tone.

"How did we get off on this rabbit trail anyway? I asked you about the painting, and you're not giving me a direct answer. Did you give the thieves your rendition of the Vermeer or not?"

"No, Peter, I did not give the thieves my rendition of the Vermeer. Ok? I told you I would handle it. They should be nice and comfortable in a jail cell by now, or at least on their way there."

"You did not seriously just give them the actual Vermeer painting. No, I don't believe that."

Peter shook his head as if ridiculing himself for even letting the thought cross his mind before he decided to clarify.

"So, all we've got them on then is kidnapping a Federal Agent - me."

"No, I think there's a bit more to it than that, at least if Jones or another FBI Agent did their job and searched their car. I told you, the FBI should not have had any problems stopping the car. I'm guessing, not like I have any personal experience with this or anything, that it's kind of hard to make a quick getaway if there is possibly an issue with say…maybe a tire or two."

"Neal, what did you do?"

"I didn't say I did anything."

"Then why are you acting defensive? So, they had a flat tire or a blow out or some unfortunate incident? You can't arrest them for that. Besides, I was in the car, there wasn't anything in there."

Neal raised an eyebrow questioning Peter's last statement.

"Are you so sure about that?"

Neal saw the instant the light bulb went on in Peter's head.

"Definitely slower, Peter, but don't worry, I'd blame the lack of sleep if I were you."

"Thankfully you're not. I thought I saw Mozzie. He did something to the tires didn't he? Did he plant evidence? He didn't plant the actual Vermeer did he?"

"So many questions, Peter; so many possibly incriminating answers. For starters, there was nothing in the tube. Ask me any more questions and I'll plead the fifth; although I'm sure you already have your suspicions."

Peter looked over at Neal; afraid of what he _was_ thinking.

"You did, didn't you?"

"I did what, Peter? You need to be a bit more specific when you are accusing me of something I may or may not have done."

"You really gave up the real Vermeer painting for me, even after I shot you; you still gave up the real Vermeer to save me."

"Are you sure?"

Peter looked over at Neal, noting that he did look slightly embarrassed.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Peter looked over at Neal with that fatherly sort of compassionate look. Neal wished, really wished, that his father had shown the same sort of compassion Peter was showing him. Maybe if his father had been more like Peter…Neal abruptly forced himself to stop thinking about it. No, he couldn't go there, not yet, maybe not ever. Neal was so deep in thought that he was startled when Peter lightly tapped him on the shoulder.

"Neal, I don't have my badge on me, I don't have my gun, or even my cell phone to call for back up, so let's just be Peter and Neal for just a few minutes. I'm sorry the painting wasn't what you were hoping for, but I will be forever grateful that you did what you did. Ok?"

"Ok."

"And if you tell anyone at the Bureau I said that, I _will_ send you back to prison, understood?"

"Understood. It wasn't just for you. It was for Grace too. I realized that sometimes you can spend your whole life looking for something and when you find it, it's not at all what you expected and you are disappointed; really disappointed. Sometimes you aren't looking for anything at all, but it finds you anyway and you come to realize it's the best thing that has ever happened to you. _You_ found _me_, and our partnership is the best thing that has _ever_ happened to me."

"I think so too. Would you mind telling me what was wrong with the painting? Remember, I'm still Peter."

Neal took a long, deep, almost painful breath. Peter wasn't sure what the problem could possibly be, but Neal really looked upset about whatever news he had decided to reveal about the painting.

"Peter…"

"I'm listening."

"Peter, the painting was destroyed. It broke my heart! Vermeer's priceless treasure was destroyed. It's sacrilegious to destroy a painting like that. How could someone destroy something so precious? It's akin to murder; maybe they don't consider it human, but when you spend hours upon hours crafting something so perfectly, with so much care and patience, it takes on a life of its own. Can you even imagine the pride Vermeer must have felt when he finished painting it? It's just further proof, Peter; proof this was about the thrill of stealing and laughing in the face of the FBI. They already had millions of dollars worth of art. They were probably in a hurry and didn't care about being careful. Maybe they didn't mean to destroy it, but it happened. They had no respect for the painting or its creator, maybe that's why Frank never fenced it. They just couldn't spare a few more seconds to protect the art, could they?"

Peter hadn't been entirely ready for an impassioned monologue from Neal regarding the Vermeer painting, but he was beginning to appreciate more about Neal and his love for art. This had obviously affected him very deeply.

"Neal, I am so sorry. I don't know the painting was destroyed, but I am very proud of what you did today. You stayed cool when it mattered most, and you _didn't_ let me down. Ok?"

Peter looked over at Neal to make sure Neal understood that he was not upset with him.

"I'm not mad, Neal. May I borrow your cell phone? I'm going to call Jones and explain before he sends the calvary."

"You're not going to tell him that I…"

"Neal, I told you, I'm listening to you as Peter, but I do have to call Jones and fulfill my responsibilities as Agent Burke and let him know I'm ok. Besides, I don't believe _you_ put the real Vermeer painting in the car."

"True."

"Did Mozzie?"

Neal didn't respond.

"I can't believe Mozzie would let you give up the real Vermeer."

Neal couldn't resist grinning.

"He wouldn't. He didn't know it was the real one. He thought it was the fake. Like I told you, you're the only one I trust."

"So where is the…"

Reading Peter's mind, Neal decided to interrupt.

"I don't have _my_ painting, if that's what you're worried about."

"I wasn't worried."

Peter was silent for a moment and then another thought hit him.

"Alex…You promised Alex your painting if she created a distraction to allow Mozzie to slip the real painting in the car and slash the tires."

"That's a very nice hypothesis, Peter."

"I'm fairly certain this hypothesis has merit, but I'm probably not going to test it and we'll leave it at that. Deal?"

"Sounds good to me."

"You have nothing to worry about. I'll tell Jones you were bluffing about having the painting in the tube because the tube was empty. Is that or is that not a true statement?"

"That would be a true statement."

"If Jones searched the Lincoln according to your plan, he was supposed to find one empty tube and one full tube, right?"

"That was the plan, yes."

"Ok, then you have nothing to worry about. You know you can trust me, Neal."

Peter looked Neal in the eye to assure him.

"I know. I just don't trust Jones. He _did_ just try to arrest me."

Neal pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Peter.

"Why don't you call him while I'm driving us back to your place. The car is this way."

"This isn't your cell phone."

"I'm impressed, Peter. No, it's not. If you call Jones from _my_ cell phone, the explanation will take too long and they will be able to get a location and they'd _still_ try to arrest me. I gave you the burner phone I was given by the coffee guy. Jones won't immediately know who the call is from, so you'll have more time to explain."

"Have I mentioned how glad I am that you're on my side now?"

"Yeah, never thought I'd see the day."

Neal laughed and started walking to the car. He looked back and noticed that Peter was swaying slightly and stepped back, reaching out to steady his friend.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"No, not really. I'm positive I'm getting sick. I haven't slept well in days. I have to call Jones, and then I just want to go home and take a shower. Then maybe I will see if Elle wants to come visit Grace with me for a few minutes. I am going to take a nice long, long nap with no interruptions from a certain FBI consultant. By the way, do you know if Grace is still in holding at FBI headquarters, or was she transferred to NYPD?"

Peter's agent senses may have been slower than normal, but he didn't miss the rapid paling of Neal's face.

"Peter…there's something you should know."


	22. Chapter 22

**Unintended Consequences**

Disclaimer: White Collar is owned by Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Incredibly busy week, not so good for creative juices or time management, but hopefully it's still good. Maybe one more chapter left after this, maybe two. We'll see. Thanks for staying with me!

_Do you know if Grace is still in holding at FBI headquarters, or was she transferred to NYPD?"_

_Peter's agent senses may have been slower than normal, but he didn't miss the rapid paling of Neal's face._

"_Peter…there's something you should know."_

**Chapter 22**

"What's going on, Neal? What haven't you told me?"

"I think we should talk about this in the car. Why don't you call Jones first and explain the situation."

"What are you hiding from me, Neal?"

"I'm not hiding anything. Look, I'm going to tell you, just not here. Let's get to the car. It can't be much further. Besides, you don't look so good. Call Jones."

"From the looks of things, whatever you're hiding from me isn't going to make me feel any better anyway."

Neal declined to respond, but was grateful when he saw Peter's Taurus parked just a few feet ahead. He pressed the button to unlock the door and opened the passenger door for Peter as Peter sank into the passenger seat; grateful to be off his feet. Neal walked around to the driver's door and slipped behind the wheel. He slipped the key into the ignition, but didn't start the car. Neal looked over at Peter who looked like he could fall asleep right there. Neal decided to stall and see if Peter would fall asleep so that he didn't have to break the bad news to him just yet.

"Have you eaten anything today, Peter? You might feel better if we get you some food or coffee."

"Do you remember what happened the last time we went for breakfast and coffee?"

"I never said breakfast, I specifically said food, and I really think you need at least coffee."

"Stop stalling, Neal. We're in the car now. I'm sitting down, so you can tell me whatever it is that you want to tell me."

"I don't _want_ to tell you anything, Peter."

"Enough already, what happened?"

"What happened to what?"

"WHAT HAPPENED TO GRACE?"

"You really need to calm down, Peter, the stress isn't going to make you feel any better. Just breathe. Breathe in, breathe out."

Peter completely ignored him, a low growl emitting from his throat.

"Neal. NOW."

"You never listen to me."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Have you taken a deep breath in or out? No, I didn't think so. You take a deep breath in and out and then once you're calmer I'll tell you, but I'm just warning you, I really don't think you want to know."

"Why don't you let _me_ be the judge of that."

"Suit yourself."

Neal chuckled, wishing Mozzie was here to hear his "suit" reference, although Peter was definitely not laughing, but rather looking at him with a stony expression on his face.

"What happened, Neal?"

Neal just sighed. He guessed it was now or never as he looked over at Peter, not wanting to miss the reaction Neal was sure was coming.

"Sniper."

"WHAT?"

Neal continued to look at Peter with a carefully controlled expression and shrugged his shoulders.

"I told you you didn't want to know."

"Is she alive?"

"As far as I know."

"_How_ do you know?"

"Jones told me."

Peter stayed seated in the passenger seat, but put his face down and pinched his nose with his left hand, trying to deal with this new information.

"Peter?"

Peter looked up at Neal ready to tell him to leave him alone, but there was a look in Neal's eyes that said there was something more going on.

"Since I'm the bearer of bad news anyway, Peter, I figured I should just throw this in there as well."

"What now?"

"Someone really _was_ after Elle."

"What?"

"When Mozzie went back to get me the copy of Vermeer's painting, someone snuck in. Mozzie attacked him with a vase. I would assume it was probably the bouquet of flowers on the table because that would be the closest thing to grab. Mozzie knocked him out and called me. I called Jones and told him to get to your place. I assume Jones arrested him, so you'll have to get any further details from him."

"Was Elle there? Did Mozzie keep her safe?"

"Peter, honestly, I don't know. Jones said Elle was with Diana at the hospital after Grace had been shot, but I don't know which one. I don't know how Elle got there or if she was at all hurt. I just don't know."

Neal did look sorry, but Peter wasn't sure that it mattered as he rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands as if he could make the headache go away.

"Could this day get any worse?"

Peter hadn't realized he had said it out loud until he saw Neal shrug his shoulders.

"I hope not, Peter. I really hope not. Look, call Jones; tell him the situation. I'm sure he knows where Diana, Elle and Grace are."

Peter and Neal walked into the Mount Sinai Medical Center and up to Grace's room. The agent outside the door was expecting them and opened the door for them to enter. Inside, Elle heard the door open and immediately walked toward it. She saw her husband walk through the door and threw herself into his arms.

"Peter, I'm so glad you're safe. I was really worried about you."

"I'm okay, honey. I'm just really tired."

Elle let go and led Peter over to Grace's bed where she was still sleeping. Diana moved away letting Peter and Elle standing near the bed railing.

"I'll be just outside if you need me."

"Thanks, Diana, for everything." Elle gave Diana a smile as she let herself out of the room and Elle turned back to Peter. "Grace will be fine. The doctor said it could have been much worse."

"Thank God for small favors at least."

"Why don't you sit down for a few minutes, honey. You look like you could use a break."

Elle let go of Peter's hand as Peter sat down in the chair that Elle had been sitting in just a few minutes earlier. Elle moved away from the bed, stepped closer to Neal and gave him a hug. She leaned over to whisper in his ear so that Peter wouldn't hear.

"What happened? Where did you go? Peter went out to bring you your coat and you never came back! I didn't know what happened! Then Diana called and said I was still in danger. I've been here ever since."

Neal looked completely uncomfortable. He didn't want to lie to Elle, but he thought that Peter should be the one to explain to Elle what had happened. He didn't really want to have this conversation in front of Peter, so he took Elle's hand and pulled her to the far side of the room, hoping that Peter wouldn't be able to hear.

"I am so sorry about that Elle, it was completely my fault. I should have called. I…I'm sorry I didn't, but Peter's okay now. He just needs some sleep."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Oh, and he hasn't had much to each, so you might want to get him something from the cafeteria."

"What have you two been up to?"

Neal couldn't help but feel guilty, and he was sure he wasn't fooling Elle.

"I think Peter should be the one to tell you, but you shouldn't worry. The painting was found and there are three guys in jail, so you should be safe. They will know you don't have the painting anymore."

Elle looked relieved and looked over at where her husband was sitting down near Grace's bed. She looked again and couldn't believe what she was seeing. She quietly walked toward Peter noticing his head leaning against the metal railing, his eyes closed and snoring softly.

"You weren't kidding about Peter needing sleep." Elle smiled and then turned and looked at Neal as he walked over to the bed noticing how peaceful both Grace and Peter looked as they both slept.

"Neal, why don't you help me get some food from the cafeteria. Probably just some sandwiches so that we can have something when Peter wakes up and is starving."

"Your wish is my command."

"Neal, I'm still getting the feeling that something isn't right here. There's nothing to feel guilty about."

Neal wouldn't meet Elle's eyes, so she put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes.

"I don't know what happened, Neal, but I'm glad you're here; you and Peter. I was worried about _both_ of you."

Neal didn't want to start a conversation about this while they were still in the room so he moved to the door in hopes that he could distract her from asking further questions.

"Let me get the door for you."

Neal opened the door to Grace's hospital room and motioned for Elle to go out before him. Diana was talking to the agent stationed outside the door when Neal and Elle came out. Neal walked over while Elle stopped just outside the door.

"Is this really necessary, Diana? Are Elle and Grace still in danger?"

"Planning something I should be aware of, Caffrey?"

"I didn't mean it like that. I'm grateful that you're here, but if there are several guys in custody, are you afraid there might be more?"

"No, not really, but we didn't want to leave until Peter gave the all clear."

"That might be a while, he's in there sleeping. Elle and I are going down to the cafeteria to grab a bite, did you need anything?"

"Could you grab me a Diet Coke?"

"Sure. No problem."

Neal turned to the other agent.

"I'm sorry. I don't remember your name. Did you need anything from the cafeteria?"

"I'm good, Mr. Caffrey, but thanks for asking. My name is David, by the way." The agent extended his hand to Neal. "Nice to meet you."

Neal gave the agent one of his signature smiles and returned the handshake. "And you as well. Keep up the good work. We'll be back soon."

Grace opened her eyes her vision slightly blurry. She saw something off to her right, but was confused at first to what it might be. She blinked a few times and realized that it looked like a person sitting by the bed with their head down. Grace tried to remember what happened and why she was in what looked to be a hospital room. Her brain was still very fuzzy and she couldn't remember what had happened. She saw the person move and then saw two brown eyes staring at her and wasn't sure what to think.

"Grace. I'm so glad you're awake. I was worried about you."

Grace wasn't sure why this person would be worried and was trying to remember who this was or why they might be here, but she was too tired to put a whole lot of effort into thinking, so she said the first thing that came to her mind.

"Who are you?"


	23. Chapter 23

Unintended Consequences

Disclaimer: White Collar is owned by Jeff Eastin and USA Network. Song Lyrics are from "You Are More" by Tenth Avenue North.

A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long to update. Life has a way of throwing curve balls, both with health and work, it has not been a good two weeks, and exhaustion does not make for good writing, especially when I can't even keep my eyes open during the day. I did take a nap today. Thanks to pechika for the suggestion to write more about what happened to Peter while he was kidnapped. I am soo excited (but yet sad) that the season finale is Tuesday.

_Grace wasn't sure why this person would be worried and was trying to remember who this was or why they might be here, but she was too tired to put a whole lot of effort into thinking, so she said the first thing that came to her mind._  
_"Who are you?" _

Chapter 23

Peter was still sleepy when Grace woke up, and her original intent was lost on his sleep-deprived brain. Instead of being alarmed that Grace didn't know him, Peter started self-reflecting. Who _was_ he? Before the events of the last few days, he would have self-assuredly said he was a by-the-book FBI Agent who only believed in black and white. Ever since Neal had been working with him he had become more aware of the gray areas, but over the last couple days, he had violated protocol and put lives in danger including his wife, his sister and his partner. Who _was_ he and what had he become? He was still mulling this over in his mind when he remembered Grace had asked him the question and was more than likely expecting an answer. He pulled himself back to reality, but noticed that Grace had already fallen back to sleep.

Peter looked around and realized that he and Grace were the only ones in the room. He wondered where his wife and Neal were, but assumed they had just stepped out for a break or some food. He was sure they would be back soon.

Peter's mind wandered to thoughts of Neal, and all that had happened. After all of the bad choices Neal had made, Peter was so proud of Neal for making the right choice this time. Peter was still having a hard time believing that Neal had actually given up the real Vermeer to save him and also bring the thieves to justice. Neal was so much more than a two-bit conman, but very few people looked past the good looks, charming smile and captivating blue eyes to find out who Neal really was; he was so much more. Peter thought to himself that he had heard that phrase before; 'you are more.' Peter tried to think of where he had heard it when it finally clicked. He had heard it playing in the coffee shop where he and Neal had been having breakfast right before he had been kidnapped. He had listened to it then and briefly thought it could refer to Neal, but he had been tired and he hadn't understood the significance then.  
_You are more than the choices that you've made, _  
_You are more than the sum of your past mistakes, _  
_You are more than the problems you create, _  
_You've been remade. _  
He remembered the lyrics now, and the song really did remind him of Neal. Neal had made some very bad choices which could also be viewed as mistakes, and Neal had created plenty of problems and paperwork headaches for Peter, but after all that Peter still knew that Neal was becoming more like an FBI Agent that Neal himself probably even realized; he _was_ being remade. Peter thought about the stark contrast between Neal and the Gardner museum thieves. Both had made bad choices in the past, but Neal had proven that he was changing, and the Gardner museum thieves had no intention of doing so. Peter felt lucky that Neal had stepped in and saved the day; just like MacGyver. Peter was still blown away by the fact that Neal had given up the painting for him, he had never expected that. Guilt at ever doubting Neal washed over Peter as he put his head back down on Grace's bed as visions from his kidnapping resurfaced.

Peter remembered he was in a suite that looked like it was probably used for business travelers, at least it wasn't some rundown abandoned building, but he realized that it wasn't their style. These Gardner thieves were brazen and apparently not afraid to show their faces and demand what they wanted. Unfortunately for Peter, he wasn't allowed to lay down on the bed, but was instead forced to lay on a portable hammock that was chained to the air conditioner unit. Peter realized that it had already been set up so clearly they had been expecting him and this wasn't a spur of the moment plan. It could have been worse, Peter realized, at least his hands were cuffed in front of him, but he didn't have anything to pick at the lock with anyway. There was a small chain running from his handcuffs and disappeared off the edge of the hammock. Peter had tugged slightly, but it seemed to be secured to one of the hammock supports. Just the simple motion of tugging on the chain rocked the hammock, and Peter did not like the rocking feeling. He really wanted the solid foundation of a bed beneath him; this rocking motion was going to drive him nuts, and there was no way he would be able to sleep. He had been thinking of taking Elle on a cruise for their anniversary next year, but if this rocking on the hammock was anything like a cruise ship Peter was going to have to reconsider his plan.

The TV was on in the suite and the two thieves were each resting on a bed watching a re-run of MacGyver. The credits started rolling, and the older thief, who once again had a different coffee cup in his hand, turned off the TV and crossed the distance between the bed and the hammock where Peter was laying. Peter decided to go on the offensive.

"Thank you for at least handcuffing me in the front. It's a lot more comfortable. May I ask, if I need anything, like using the bathroom, what should I call you to get your attention? Since we're obviously going to be spending time together, you should at least give me a name, since you obviously know mine and quite a bit about me."

The thief just smirked. "I wasn't going for comfort. It's just easier to see if you're trying to pick them if they're in front."

"You haven't left me anything to pick at them with anyway. Now, what should I call you, would 'coffee guy' suffice?"

"Why don't you use Angus. I think that fits me nicely."

Peter tried really hard to suppress his laughter. It just wouldn't do to annoy his captor.

"I see you're more of a MacGyver junkie than you let on. So, let me guess, your bodyguard is the one that has the gun and isn't afraid to use it, and you prefer more orderly intimidation as opposed to brandishing a weapon?" Peter wanted to continue and say that even though MacGyver was a good show, anyone who would choose "Angus" had a few screws loose, but fearing for his safety after his already sarcastic comments, Peter chose to keep his mouth shut before his situation deteriorated even further. After all, MacGyver was not there to rescue him, but Peter really hoped that Neal was formulating a plan with his copy of Vermeer's painting. Peter looked up and saw Angus was still standing there looking at him with a bemused expression on his face.

"I'm just dying to know. What on earth were you thinking hiring an ex-con like Caffrey? He isn't worth it. He'll never change. You know he betrayed you, right? He just let us walk away with you. It was a good way for us to help him get you out of his life without raising suspicion. In return, he's giving us the painting."

"That was a setup? That's how you knew where we were?" Peter felt like he was sucker punched. He couldn't believe Neal would do that to him, but once he started breathing again he realized it could just be a way for Angus to get under his skin and intimidate him. "No, he wouldn't do that to me. He would _not_ betray our partnership like that."

"You don't believe me, I understand, but I don't believe you either. Why would you want to be _partners_ with a criminal?"

"Because he is one of the smartest guys I know. He truly cares about people. Has he made some bad choices? Yes, but I asked him to do the right thing. I don't believe he would betray me like that."

"You seem to have quite a bit of confidence in him, no matter how unfounded that may be. Face it, Agent Burke. When he misses the deadline and doesn't give us what we want, who knows what will happen to you. Even if the FBI finds out what the ransom is, they haven't been able to find it in 20 years, and they don't negotiate. How much are you worth to them? I think the FBI is more concerned about keeping to their non-negotiation policy intact than they are concerned about your well being. As for Neal, I don't know why he would want you back, and he will never give up the painting for you. It's a priceless Vermeer and being the kind of thief he is, he won't be able to resist."

Peter couldn't really argue with Angus, because he was accurate on several different points. Peter wasn't sure if Neal had alerted the FBI, but he was certain that even if they knew and were looking for him, that negotiation was not an option. Peter would simply have to wait to see if Neal had betrayed him or not.


	24. Chapter 24

**Unintended Consequences**

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: I'm sad to report that this is the final chapter for this story. It has consumed my life for several months now, and my workload has increased significantly (well, I was actually unemployed when this story was first conceived, and I was bored out of my mind). Now I find that I no longer have much spare time for writing. I have really struggled the last month with trying to find time, but I appreciate everyone who has stuck with me! Reviews really make my day and have given me so much encouragement. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

_Peter couldn't really argue with Angus, because he was accurate on several different points. Peter wasn't sure if Neal had alerted the FBI, but he was certain that even if they knew and were looking for him, that negotiation was not an option. Peter would simply have to wait to see if Neal had betrayed him or not. _

**Chapter 24**

"Peter? Peter!"  
Peter slowly opened his eyes; his head feeling like it was spinning. He could make out a blurry figure of Neal standing looking at him, but strangely Peter wasn't able to talk to him. As his vision started to clear, Peter saw Angus standing behind Neal, his lips moving. Peter strained to hear what Angus was saying, and closed his eyes to concentrate on Angus' voice.  
"You can't trust Neal. He's a conman. He lies for a living. He betrayed you."  
Peter didn't want to believe Angus, but he was confused as to what was happening. Peter suddenly remembered running, but he couldn't remember who he was running from or why he was even running. Peter opened his eyes once again, trying to focus on where Neal had been standing. He could still hear Neal's voice calling out to him, but Neal had disappeared and so had Angus. He heard Neal's voice calling again.  
"Peter? Peter!"

Peter closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about Neal betraying him. He wanted to trust him, but another part of him just wanted it to all go away. Peter felt himself swinging as if he was back in the hammock. He moved his hands to grab onto the side of the hammock for support, but found his hands were free of the handcuffs and instead of the edge of the hammock, he felt a pair of hands steadying him from falling over.  
Peter opened his eyes slowly adjusting to the light. He realized that he wasn't in the hammock when he saw the railing of a hospital bed on his right side. He turned his head slightly to see Neal's worried face, as the conman was now kneeling beside him. Peter looked behind Neal, expecting to see Angus again, but he wasn't there. Peter still had a confused expression on his face as he looked over at Neal.  
"Neal? You…You didn't…What are you doing here? Where's Angus?"  
Neal could sense Peter's confusion and decided for once not to give him a hard time.  
"I brought you a sandwich and some bottled water. I wasn't sure when you had eaten last. I know sleep is important, but you need sustenance too. You weren't responding, so I shook your shoulder a little to try and get you to wake up."  
Peter didn't indicate he had comprehended Neal's statement and Neal saw the confused look still present on Peter's face.  
"Angus said…"  
"Who's Angus, Peter?"  
"Don't start with me, Neal. You're working with him. He said you betrayed me. He said…"  
Neal cut Peter off with a slight edge of impatience and frustration in his voice.  
"Peter, you're safe. You're not with them anymore, ok? They're behind bars. Why would you think I would betray you? How can you trust _them_ more than _me_? How many times do I have to prove myself?"  
Neal stopped to take a breath and then added as an afterthought, "Maybe I should have just kept the Vermeer and let the FBI rescue you themselves. You know, see how their non-negotiation policy actually worked for you."  
Neal's tone had become decidedly bitter near the end, and he wasn't sure if he actually expected a response from Peter. He hadn't really meant it; he still thought that Peter's life was much more important than the Vermeer he had discovered. Neal also realized that Peter was clearly not firing on all cylinders yet, but he still felt hurt that Peter would even consider that Neal had betrayed him.

Neal waited for a moment for Peter's reaction, but Peter didn't say a word. Neal could only assume that Peter really was mad at him. Neal reached for the sandwich and placed it in Peter's hands. Neal then set the bottle of water at the foot of the bed where it was easily accessible.  
"Elle will be back soon. She stopped to talk to someone she knew in the cafeteria. You look like you need more sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."  
Peter didn't respond to Neal because his mind was busy processing Neal's statement about the Vermeer. He knew it sounded familiar and it felt like it was just on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't get it out. There was something important that he felt he was supposed to remember, but his brain was still clouded; the only thing he could remember was food. He remembered Neal said he brought food. He looked down at the sandwich still in his hand and took several bites. The growling in his stomach only confirmed that at least Neal had been right about needing to eat. Only a few more bites and then he was going to sleep some more, maybe he would be able to think more clearly after another nap.

Elle pushed the door to Grace's hospital room open. She walked toward the bed and stopped by the sleeping figure of her husband. The floor creaked slightly and Elle noticed Grace opening her eyes. Elle didn't want to disturb her husband, so she stepped closer and spoke in a low tone, hoping that Grace would understand.  
"Grace. I'm so glad you're awake. How are you feeling?"  
"Much better. It's Elle, isn't it?"  
"Yes, that's right. I'm Peter's wife. We were introduced earlier. You look much better today."  
"Thanks. I feel much better. I think I was really out of it before. I don't remember much."  
"It's okay. I'm sure it will just take time and you'll be as good as new. I haven't had a chance to ask Peter, but I'm sure he would be happy to have you stay with us for a few days while you are getting back on your feet and getting some things straightened out."  
"You are so kind, Elle. Thank you so much for your generosity. I wish…"  
Grace stopped, not able to finish the sentence and looking as if she might cry. Elle felt compassion blossoming in her chest as Grace was overcome with all the stress of the last couple days coupled by the obvious love and support from Peter and Elle. Elle moved closer to the bed and squeezed Grace's hand as a sign of comfort and support.  
"You're not alone Grace. You have a family now, and Peter and I are here for you."  
Grace was still too overcome to respond, but she nodded her head as a single tear carved its way down her cheek, and then it was like the dam broke and more tears came rushing out. Elle squeezed Grace's hand tighter.

"Grace? Are you ok?"  
Elle turned at the sound of Peter's voice. She hadn't realized that Peter had woken up. Elle realized he was probably concerned to see Grace's bloodshot eyes and tears streaming down her cheeks.  
"She's fine, Peter. She's just de-stressing from the last couple of days."  
"Are you sure she's ok? She didn't remember me earlier."  
"You were here before? I don't remember that, Peter. I'm sorry."  
"I'm just glad you're ok, Grace." Peter looked over and noticed that Elle was still rubbing the top of Grace's hand in an obviously comforting gesture. Peter was reminded that he had married a most remarkable women and it was obvious that his wife and sister would get along just fine. Peter was interrupted from his thought process by Elle's voice that had turned a bit concerned.  
"Where did Neal go? He was supposed to bring your food up to you. " Elle looked over at Peter and noticed an embarrassed and slightly ashamed look crossing his features. She knew that look and it always spelled trouble.  
"What did you say to him this time, Peter? He took a huge risk to get you back, not anyone would have or could have done what he did, Peter."  
"I know. He _was_ here. He brought the food and then he left."  
Peter ground the words out as if he was being forced to say the words. He wasn't particularly pleased at the turn of events, but his mouth seemed to be acting without the consent of his brain recently. He knew what Neal had given up. He remembered now that it was the Vermeer that Neal had exchanged for him, but Angus' voice kept repeating over and over in his head that Neal had betrayed him and Peter couldn't make it stop. It occurred to Peter that Neal had only been trying to help. Neal had been obviously trying to shake his shoulder because he was concerned about him. Peter wondered why he always seemed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time; could he not get anything right? Peter realized he needed to come up with a good way to apologize to Neal; again.

He finally realized that Elle had been talking to him.

"What did you say, hon?"  
"_Why_ did he leave, Peter?"  
"I might have said a few things without thinking them through."  
"Maybe you should just call Neal or if you don't want to talk to him, just text him. You could apologize and ask him to come back for a few minutes. Tell him Grace is awake. He might want to see her."  
"You want me to apologize in a text?"  
"You can apologize face to face as well if you would like."  
Peter wanted to tell his wife that he didn't want to apologize at all. He didn't want Neal to come back simply he was feeling really guilty, and he didn't want to deal with those emotions right now, or really ever, but he wasn't going to tell Elle that. Peter knew better than to argue with his wife though, so he reluctantly pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for and choose the option to send a text message.

Neal was sitting in Peter's Taurus in the parking garage. The keys were in the ignition, but Neal just couldn't get himself to start it and drive away. Neal felt his frustration building and slammed his palm against the steering wheel. Why couldn't Peter just believe him? After everything they had been through, it just wasn't fair. As Neal shifted slightly in the seat, his ribs concurred with the statement of unfairness, as they protested the movement. Neal wondered how long he would have this constant reminder of Peter shooting him. If it hadn't been for Mozzie insisting he wear the vest…Neal didn't even want to think about what could have happened. He wasn't going to forget the incident anytime soon, but he knew he had already forgiven Peter. He wanted to go back in the hospital and give Peter a piece of his mind. He wanted to yell at him that he had given up a Vermeer painting for him. Granted, it wasn't as valuable as they had hoped it would be because it had been destroyed, but it had meant something to Neal, and he had been willing to give it up to save Peter, with the obvious side benefit of catching the bad guys at the same time. He thought Peter would have been proud of him, but it couldn't have been more obvious that he wasn't.  
Neal felt the urge to run; just like every time before when he was just out of Peter's reach; taunting the agent to catch him. It had felt so natural then; just like breathing. He would just leave everything behind he had worked so hard for. It was tempting; oh so tempting, but Neal knew that _this time_, once he left he could never come back. _This time_ he would honestly have to say that he would miss it. He knew he really liked working with Peter and his team. What was there really to come back for though? Was this enough? Peter was never going to trust him completely, _ever_, no matter what he did. His life had also been far less dangerous _before_ starting to work for the FBI, and he was beginning to realize that if the FBI considered Peter expendable, as Hughes had stated so succinctly in his non-negotiation speech before Neal had gone searching for the painting with Jones, then Neal figured he was as well. He could be replaced just as easily by another con looking to make a deal. Were there really any actual benefits of sticking around? Why did he want more? Slowly Neal's hand found its way up to the steering column and grasped the keys tightly turning them and starting Peter's Taurus. He shifted into reverse and put his right hand on the passenger side head rest, turning to make sure no one was behind him as the car started to roll backward. Neal quickly pressed on the brakes when he thought he saw a figure behind him. It was an older gentleman that was walking behind the car, and he had turned to look at Neal almost as if to make sure he was stopping. For just a brief second, Neal envisioned Peter turning to look at him with a sorrowful look on his face.

"I'm sorry," the image of Peter said to him, "Please don't go."

Neal could only see the man's mouth move through the rear view mirror, but he could hear Peter's voice echoing in his conscience; "Please don't go." As the older man passed by, Neal knew it wasn't Peter, but he also realized he didn't want Peter to apologize to him. Neal didn't want to stay; he still wanted to be mad at him. Neal was about to take his foot off the brake and continue backing up, seeing no other pedestrians in sight, when his phone chirped indicating a new text message. Neal thought about ignoring it because it was most likely Peter, but he realized it could just as easily be Mozzie; either way, it could be important.

Neal pulled the shifter down into drive, inched forward back into the parking space and pulled out his cell. Neal noticed, much to his chagrin, that the text message _was_ from Peter. Almost without his consent, his finger clicked the button to open the message.

"Grace is awake. Plz come back. I'm sorry. I forgot about running in the park. Thank you."

Neal re-read the message and wanted to throw his phone in frustration. Why did Peter have this effect on him? Why couldn't he just stay mad at Peter? Neal was grateful that Grace was awake, but he wasn't so sure he wanted to see Peter again at the moment. He was mad at him, but now he was saying he was sorry, and Neal didn't feel like forgiving him just yet. However, maybe it wouldn't be quite so awkward if both Elle and Grace were there in the room as well.

Neal reached over and turned the set of keys back toward him turning the Taurus off. He just sat still for a few seconds trying to decide on a course of action. He finally determined he was going to going to walk back into the hospital, walk up to Grace's room, make sure she was okay, hand Peter's keys back to him, and then walk back out to call a cab. He didn't want to spend any more time than necessary in Grace's room. As stressed as he was sure Peter was after their ordeal, Neal realized just how tired and exhausted he was, and he just wanted some time alone. Neal was sure that he could use that as an excuse to make a quick exit.

Peter and Elle were discussing details with Grace about when she would be released from the hospital. Peter was certain she would have little if any jail time for shooting her husband, and he was anxious to start over and get to know her again. He wasn't tremendously worried about what Hughes would think either, because he was certain all the miscommunication could be explained. Elle had just started telling Grace a little bit about her catering business when the door to Grace's hospital room opened; both Peter and Elle turned to see Neal entering.

"You said Grace was awake? Is everything ok?"

Peter stepped a few steps back realizing he was probably blocking Neal's view of Grace.

"I'm doing okay, Neal. Thanks for coming back. Actually, thanks for everything the past couple of days. I know that's probably not enough, but I do appreciate what you and Peter did. It means a lot to me."

Neal felt his anger dissipating as he walked over and gave Grace a light hug, careful not to disturb her bandaged shoulder.

"I'm so glad you're ok. I was worried for a while, we weren't sure you were going to make it."

"You forget that I have Burke genes, Neal, and I'm even more stubborn than Peter. I do have one request though, Neal."

"Will I like it? You look serious."

"Neal, I'm begging you, please don't let this incident fester between you and Peter. You both need to forgive and forget. I'm talking to you too, big brother. If the two of you don't make up, you will end up like Peter and I did for years and years; not talking or communicating at all. Is that what you want? I want you to learn from my mistakes. You are both too special to me for that. Please, do it for me?"  
It was at that moment that both Peter and Neal felt like they had been punched in the gut, and by a woman no less. Peter was ashamed that he hadn't even realized he and Neal were having the same kind of petty fights that he and Grace did before their last showdown. He definitely did not want to alienate Neal for 30 years. Neal had become a good friend and ally, and he had proven his worth to the FBI. Peter decided he needed to show Neal more appreciation. He had heard the saying "You never know what you have until it's gone" way too many times to not realize that it could be describing Neal.

Neal, for his part, was feeling guilty for even considering running. He really did have so much to lose with this new life. Why would he want to be alone and on the run, constantly moving and creating new aliases when he had people here who really and truly cared about him?

Neal looked down at Grace, relief evident on his face.

"And here I thought I was supposed to be the smooth talker here."

Neal wasn't sure if his comment was taken as the ice breaker he had meant it as, but as he turned to Peter he noticed that Peter also had a relieved look on his face. Hopefully, the incidents of the past few days could be like water under the bridge and they could move on.

Neal's eyes drifted to the floor, but then he raised them and looked Peter in the eye.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for not telling you right away about Grace. You _are_ important to me. You are _the world_ to Elle, and even the Vermeer painting that was hidden for over 20 years could _never_ be more important than that."

Peter reached over to give Neal a quick hug, he wanted to prove to Neal that he wasn't always a stern and gruff FBI Agent; that he did have feelings and he really appreciated everything he did; if only he knew how to say it. Peter hoped the hug would at least convey some of that. 

"It's nice to know I'm worth more than the Vermeer, Neal."

"Peter, you got me out of prison when you didn't have to and you let me be part of your team; you respect my opinion on cases, and you are a great partner. I really shouldn't complain it could be a lot worse."

Neal stepped back as Peter let go, and Elle quickly gave Neal a hug as well.

"I was thinking though…" Neal started as Elle hugged him and stepped back. "I'm wondering what I'll find out about you next. While you were hunting me, I thought I knew everything about you. Now, I find out you have a sister. I'm wondering what I'll find out next."

"No worries, Neal. It's just the two of us; there are no more hidden brothers or sisters." Grace responded with a hint of pride in her voice.

"That's not what worries me. As Robert Brault would say 'The thing about family disasters is that you never have to wait long before the next one puts the previous one into perspective.' I'm not sure I want to know what's next."

Peter was heard audibly groaning, but as he looked at Elle, Grace and Neal, his _extended_ family, they all shared a look. They all started laughing, wondering what would possibly be in store for them next.


End file.
